Heavy
blues in the room.
Through the haze, ash and sound,
he caresses Lucille and then
plays on.

Given
to me for free;
a smile from a small child.
For a moment, I forget to
worry.

when I was five and life was a song of
excitement and innocence
the world was full of mystery
and I had never felt
the pain of hurt or loss of
any kind    and then
one day
a playmate pushed me right off the swing
you picked me up   brushed me off
   told me not to cry
‘mommy,’ I said,
‘it hurts’

when I was sixteen and in love for the  first time
to a young Cuban girl I felt like
    an adult doing adult things
dates and kissing and groping
and late-night phone calls with the
cord stretched and twisted through the house
and under my door    and then
one day
she left me for another teenage crush
and I felt world-ending
anguish  burning, hot, consuming
as only a teenager can feel them
you held me close
   told me I’d be ok
‘but mom,’ said I,
‘it hurts.’

when I was thirty-five at the end of my marriage
holding on to it with desperate and futile hands
trying to be a good father to my sons
who put me on a pedestal high enough
to rival the gods
I fought depression
and anger
even as I felt co-dependent longing
for the woman who was
  breaking my heart
there at the end of that marriage
one day
you held your grandchildren
and me
   and told us we’d be ok
‘mom,’ I said
   ‘it hurts.’
  
when I was thirty-eight and dying
from the cancer eating  my body
  repulsed by
the very sight of my
shriveled and sunken body with
chemotherapy eyes set deep
deep inside my skull
and scars on my body finally
making me as ugly in life as I felt inside
I despaired and I grieved
the loss of innocence
in my children and the burden
on my new girlfriend
one day
you sat by my bedside
and held my hand,
  told me the kids
and I
were stronger than I knew
‘but mom’ I said, looking
at their pictures,
‘it hurts.’

when I was forty and strong again,
recovered from cancer
and from divorce
my scars a badge of character and honor
with a beautiful new bride by my side
a new life to live
and a new daughter to love
that day
  you lay in a hospital bed
clinging desperately to life
     machines to monitor
tubes to breath
nurses to care and
doctors to treat
I held your hand, like you always held mine,
  alongside
your daughter (my sister) and
your other son (my brother)
as you breathed your last
even as I
   sobbed at your passing
and fell into the arms of my wife and siblings
I wondered
  selfishly
who now will hold me like you did
like only you could
because oh god, mom
it hurts.

when I’m this drunk
and you’re a thousand
miles away
I miss the plenary version of you
everything that you are
and all that I perceive you to be
why aren’t you here with me

I want to stop giving up
I want to just do it
I want to love you completely
with all that I am
and with no reservations

because when you’re
a thousand miles away
I know that the daily
irritations and influences
that detract from our
utter (what an ugly word) and complete
devotion to one another are
just that
distraction and irritations

the insecurities and the self-defeating
effects of life are nothing
when I have this much whiskey in me
I know that my love for you
is real

more real than Paris for Helen
more significant than
Romeo for Juliet
I love you as I love the
heart and lungs
in my own breast

without you I am bereft of a
vital *****
necessary for life
for existence

when I am this drunk
I don’t make sense
but I know
more truly than I know my name
that you are
essential
and that I love you
always

when you have had
one too many
you can’t write coherently
and need to stop
trying to be deep
and meaningful
give it up, man
with five shots of
whisky
in your gut
you’re not a poet
you’re just a man with
too many words and
not enough sense to
stop typing

there’s a gun in my pocket
heavy with the essence of
another man’s soul
still swirling in the smoky barrel
in this dark corner of this lonely
and forgotten
bar is the man who played
Thanatos and brought to
inevitable conclusion the yearnings
of a single human life
in this corner, sipping cheap
whiskey
and smoking
foreign cigarettes is a
killer with a conscience
but you’d never know it
steady hands and
unwavering eyes
greet the bartender
I order another
shot
and pat my thigh, keeping
the soul in the chamber
for just a little longer
because, really, it’s  my soul
that’s been stolen by that
gun in my pocket

somewhere
on unending
back roads of Nebraska
I left behind the ghost of my
cancer