We make peace with closed fists
and sing poems to our children
about war;

“It only happens once in a while.”

We spray everything red and cry in our hands,
we crush our heads in our palms.
Shake tambourines for spare change,
and claw at untuned unfinished guitars.

Daylight fades, and darkness stumbles in,
alcohol on its breath,
a mix only sailors and their widows drink.
It’s harassing someone for a **** or a fight,
because it longs to be touched and feel it,
to shed some ****** fluid
and feel drained of the pressure
of desperation.