Old man's
old man's
old man
mixes

one part coffee,
one part port,
in bottles marked
Sun. through Sat.

No words for
the grandkids
who split
from

the cast-iron stove
with wood
for warmth
and coal
for cooking,
up

the
skinny,
shoddy
steps
to

the cold, black
room
and six-quilt
beds
while he

sipped his
cocktail
by the
burning barrel
all night.

And what if
one of them
woke and peered
into some dark
corner

and saw
the small
red specter
of a hand-rolled
cigarette
blinking back?