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  May 2020 From the ashes
Thomas W Case
I remember Valentines Day
16 years ago.
I was staying at
the Salvation Army in
Des Moines.I was
going through a divorce
and trying not to drink.
I was competing in poetry slams
at Java Joe's downtown.
That little stage kept me sane.
Some of the guys at the Sally
asked me to write love poems
for their girlfriends- to get them laid.
I told them in order for the poetry
to not sound contrived, I might
need to spend a night or two
with their women.
They didn't think that was funny.
I wasn't kidding.
I ended up writing a decent
poem about the irony of the whole situation.

Well, it's February 2019,
and I'm in prison for drinking.
No romantic Valentine's Day this
year; but still plenty of irony.
Even in the joint, guys ask me
to write love poems for their women.
The other day, I did write
a poem for a guy's wife who is
dying of cancer.
I hope some day soon,
he gives it to her.
  May 2020 From the ashes
Thomas W Case
"When you have 20 bucks in
your pocket you act like your rich,
then you get that itch to drink.
You blow through your money
like a cyclone, like sand through
your hands."
She didn't treat similes well,
and she was always *******.
"You eat up all my food,
and you don't do anything except
sit there and write.
Write and smoke, smoke and write.
Your cigarettes stink up my apartment."
She was always lighting incense, and
spraying air freshener.
I ask her why, if she hates smoke so
much, does she get drunk and
smoke all my cigarettes?
She doesn't respond.
"When are you going to get off
your *** and do something?
But no, you'd rather sit there and smoke.
Smoke and write, write and smoke.
Sure, you **** me, but your ****
doesn't pay the bills."
I ask her if she wants it to, and I
think she might slap me.
"Yea, the *** is great, but we can't
just live on ***."
I suggest we try.  She doesn't
even crack a smile.
"And when I get wine, you drink most
of it, and then you strut around in
your filthy boxers and spout poetry.
Then you just sit there and smoke.
Smoke and write, write and smoke."
She storms off, and an hour later,
with childlike innocence, she asks,
"What are you writing?"
  May 2020 From the ashes
Thomas W Case
I met her on the beach in
Coralville.
Actually, it was just a long
strip of sand below the dam.
I was crashing with some
friends that had tents set up
back in the woods.
She wore a red one piece
swimsuit, big sunglasses, and
she drank warm Chardonnay in
the sensual summer sun.
We got drunk together and sang songs.
We walked hand in hand to the
liquor store as evening fell on us like
a warm blanket.
We got back and found an empty tent.
We drank ***** and ****** long into the night.
When morning came crashing in like
an intruder, with thick tongues, we
asked each other's names and laughed.
We spent many hours in the sun on
that strip of sand, swimming in
the river--dodging water moccasins.
When the mood struck us,
which was quite often, we went
back to the woods, and ******
like animals.
Sometimes, providence can be a friend.
  May 2020 From the ashes
Thomas W Case
Our relationship is toxic, like a river of ****
or a mercury stained fish,
We argue all the time—we hit each other.
We bring up past indiscretions and affairs.
After we haven't seen each other for a while,
it all starts off well enough;
we're like dogs in heat.
We **** constantly, then the inevitable
moment comes when one of us will say, "…and
wouldn't a glass of wine be nice? "
"Yes, yes it would."
Then it turns into bottles of wine,
then *****, then you calling the cops
and getting me kicked out.
Next thing I know I'm under a bridge
in the middle of ******* winter.
You're in your nice warm apartment drinking
your Chardonnay, dancing with
your toothless neighbor and
driving around with your ex-boyfriend.
I can drink myself to death on my own;
I don't need some wack-job to help me.
At times your ****** might have
been my warped little god,
but it's time I excommunicate myself
from the church of your *******.
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