it was a face
against the whitestripe fence
sloe eyes and
a sweet mouth, pursed
like a cherry.
i blinked,
and she became
leafshadow again;
i stared, and she winked.
i waited
but the sun rose
too slowly for me
to figure out
the moment the angle
changed and
it was just
a twisted bunch
of leaves
casting grapeknot shade.
of all the people
i met today, she
was the
most real.
tomorrow, when
i’m taking down
coffee and a shot
of beam for the
day, i’m sure
i’ll see her again.
i’ll look away
while she’s still a face
so neither of us
will be lonely.
the bulb burned out
right in the middle of
a sentence.
i was still talking, lady.
it wasn’t fair.
i bought replacements
a long time ago.
so i rescued them from the
hall closet and
screwed one in, snapped
you back over your
modern-day candle.
my smoke was still smoking
my glass was half full
i plugged you in and
pop!
a bad bulb.
could’ve taken it for a sign
but then
i never know when to quit
it’s why they all
give up on me.
i shuffled
down the hall
with the fumes
in my head
burped some acid
alcohol
and got three more bulbs.
ripped the plastic open
and screwed another one in
bit my lip so hard
i tasted iron.
plugged you in
and held my breath
and you lit up
like you’d never left.
my lady, our lady
if i can get another bulb
and another,
how about you
throw me a bone?
but every time
i take another drink
my lip, it stings
and i watch your smile.
as usual
you keep your mouth
shut.
took a hiatus. bottle hit back. new job. been writing mostly under lock and key.
stay tuned for more emilio. yeah, more to that story.
that is all.
stop.
there’s no point.
quit driving past
quit staring so hard
it burns a hole in my ribs.
you and me
were never real,
because you built that
castle
on sand untruths.
i thought you were a man
but mine
was an honest
mistake.
so stop.
quit showing up at my
door
with another hard-luck
story.
i believed you
the first fifty times
now i just listen
to you whine
on the other side
of my new locks.
i keep the phone handy
and the bottle handier.
go away.
at least the liquor
is honest
about meaning me
no good.
i had a house
and a job
and i could take a punch.
thought it was enough
until it occurred
a rose in snow, the
blood on the floor
and i knew
he might not kill me
but i couldn’t take the
chance.
now i’ve got a job
minimum, yeah, and
i drink a lot of it.
the apartment’s small
but it’s mine
and the man
i moved in with
is off the lease.
which means
i threw the lifejacket
away. but i don’t
drown.
much.
at night
when i wake
in a cold sweat
wondering
if i waxed the kitchen
floor good enough
or if he was going
to be in a mood
coming home
i see the nightlight
la Virgin in her blue robe
smiling.
and it only
takes a shot or two
to get back to sleep.
yeah, it’s better.
the most i can expect.
there’s no love song
like the boy
who opens your car door.
who stands when you enter the room.
the boy who puts a warm hand
to the small of your back
as you go through
the revolving door.
that’s the boy who says
whatever happens
whatever it takes
i’m there
i’m yours
and we’re in it
together.
it’s a simple thing
but that’s a boy
i could let in.
forget the love songs,
babe, let them
blow by
like the empty wind
they are.
there’s no love song
like the boy
who lights your smoke
because he’s
just
that
way.
the boys gather
around the car
that holy of holies.
the tobacco smoke rises, an
offering; they nod
along with the liturgy;
it’s a bang bang thud thud
speakers shivering glass.
you can feel the bass
against your heart
right where religion
is supposed to press.
i watch from my balcony
as a joint makes the rounds
this my body, my blood,
they pass cervezas
and speak in weird semaphore
through the waves of thump rattle boom.
they look so young
and every warm night
they’re out there
as faithful as
the grannies
who hobble to mass
three times a week
in their black
and swollen shoes.
rained like
we were going to
get a boat
and go two by
two
and i started
thinking:
who would i
go with?
screw it.
i’ll stay here.
i’d rather drown
lonely
than see
you again.
you came over
when you wanted.
you got
what you came for.
you left
when you wanted to.
and you tell me
you felt trapped?
please.
the only thing trapping
you
was that i wasn’t going to
pay for your pleasures,
finance
your life.
i’ve got my
own life
to pay for, a hell
of an installment
plan, between
god and me.
so go away
and figure out
how to pay down
the principal on
your own
damn mistakes.
when a man gets angry
because a woman
won’t give him
money
he says
“trapped.”
fuck that.
i’ll pay my own way
and you can
mourn
the chance you had
to buy some
quality.
i had it.
a perfect poem.
but there was life.
there was the job
the errands
the cleaning up
the business of
going on
and on
and by the time
i got around
to it
everything evaporated.
can’t even remember
the keyword.
god and virgin
why cover up
the essential
with so much crap?
i know there’s
always more
hiding
inside my bones.
but i wanted that
one.
and i resent it
so badly
i could murder.
but who?
so i sit here
take another drag
let the smoke out
and write this
for you.
don’t wait.
grab it
when it comes.
