Outside lying on his back
In a pool of his own ****
Up to his shoulder blades,
His whiskers slobbering spit,
***** pooling in his lap,
Leather stomacher exposed,
His belly spilling out a gap.

Rolling side to side,
Screaming obscenities,
Flailing hog stuck in muddy sty,
Cursing desperately for help,
Screaming to anyone, to God,
Up in a wheeling, blurry sky.

Too much to drink that day,
Too much for 40 years,
Too much whiskey every day
Led to his *****-filled fears...
Stumbled him; tumbled him away.

We boys had headed to the bar
For burgers before a game;
Saw Charlie rolling on his back,
Fighting no one in the street,
Bare ****** in his drunken sinning,
Terrified and terrorized,
Moaning and bawling and spinning
Under a sunny, small-town sky.

When Brian tried to get him up,
Old Charlie's cursing grew,
And Brian backed up laughing,
Not knowing what to do.

I stood a ways away,
Hadn't seen a thing like this before,
Until a couple men came out
And dragged old Charlie in a door.

Forty years have gone, I guess,
And Charlie's been gone twenty,
But when I stop to think of him,
I ask myself if I've had plenty,
And tell the waiter, "Two is fine;
I'm done tonight, I guess."
And pay my check while I can see
To leave a little for the rest.

There's a picture of you holding cake,
White frosting on your nose, wanting more
Your mother and father grinning
As you explore sugar as never before.

Behind the cameras, we laugh and clap,
Celebrating a year and nine months' wonder,
A life that we have come to know and love,
A little girl, on a day you're only partially aware.

The dog lies nearby, watching for crumbs,
In his own way celebrating this happy day.
He does not seem to mind he is supplanted
As family favorite; at least, he does not say.

The balloons, the cake, one candle all aflame,
Join our choral "Happy Birthday" song
Follow in the first of what we hope
Will be many, many more to come.

"I think ***** may be a tragic hero,"
A student said,
"Linda tells her boys he is an average man,
And it's time for average men to be attended.
That he gets up and goes to work each day
Is enough to make him a hero."

We listen in the darkened room,
Breaking to think our thoughts aloud
Before we dive back into the pool
Of Loman miseries:
The braggart wearing down,
The cringing rage against
The darning of socks,
Silken stocking memories,
Naughtiness recapitulated.

And sons spinning round
The vortex edge,
Wondering whether
To bail or pledge....

The stage is growing dark,
The audience darker,
Receding from bright memories,
Nobility's idyllic days denied,
Nothing left but the emptiness of pride.

Accepting brassiness and braggadocio,
We lean, breathless beneath skyscrapers,
Accepting commission-only pay,
The emptiness of false news,
And mediocre heroes.

"Boys! The woods are burning!
Can't you understand?
There's a big blaze going all around!"
But no one understands.

We are all dreamers,
Hoping America makes us great again,
Wishing to live the Salesman's life,
Willing to leave Plan B hidden
Behind the fusebox for now...
If only hope remains,
If only champagne wishes,
Caviar dreams besot us in our schemes.

"Nobody dast blame this man!"
Says Charlie, and he is right.
It's tough being out there
Living on a wing and a prayer,
Promising the moon,
Promised the moon,
Age coming on,
No seeds planted,
No sun to shine
On what's left
Of the garden....

A little salary,
A smile,
A shoeshine,
Cannot suffice.

Believing dreams that lie
Is no reason to live;
Seeing the blue sky alone
Is no reason,
If there's nothing to own,
And no place to call home.