with a Matador’s flourish,
in gleeful, alcoholic amusement,
in a 20 year old rusting hover-round—
yellow, SCREAMING Hawaiian shirt,
muttering about his FORD MUSTANG.
He was drinking gin and tonic
the flavor of the pineapple juice—
which I would entitle:
An Improper Tonic For A Gentleman
Of A Most Diligent Method.
S much GIN, and
(that) much TONIC, and
We were always about a there-ness in
our conversations about HOME, and
WHAT WE’D KNOWN.
He kept confusing my parents’ city for
The Costa del Sol.
It wasn’t the first time, but he’d clearly
MRS. VICUNA has stage IV, coming
through the door carrying
a tumbler of KY straight, WONDERING
aloud to me how
a pain pill could work
so well, and last 10 hours, and numb her
Like a SOUTHERN GIRL, she says,
“The doctor is so young,
I KNOW I’ll be
(all is calm, all is bright, the crisp
of snowy blessings
are hers tonight.)
Slow motion, MY shattered china reassembles in
a slow tracking, backwards cinema shot—
refusing to persist and scatter.
I see nothing but injury caught stepping into time.
God save my neighbors, they’re just like me.