the secret
that isn’t a secret
after i tell you
the secret

of what makes
my steak tacos
so delish

steak
cooked in beer.

she used to light her cig
and let it hang on the
bottom lip as she
spoke about god
or denny mcclain

i never understood
what they meant because
they were before my

time

so i’d sit and listen to
dad say he was an agnostic
and my mom say she was a
christian and my grandma laughed
and said she believed they were
both correct on different days

mcclain turned out to be
a criminal, embezzler
i believe

maybe that was lolich
or god
i don’t remember

i was drunk on
pepsi cola
made right chips
and love

i wish it was 1963
black and white tv
cold milk in a bottle
and none of this

i wouldn’t miss
any of this

still, there would be
your cliques, greasers and
preps

rich kids would get the ***,
the cars, the better ****

the poor will always be in
need of things

doesn’t matter the year

even broke,
that cold milk
in a bottle would
be there in the
morning

i wouldn’t miss
any of this

the ice cube sat there at the bottom of the unfilled glass
slowly it began to melt
flooding emptiness
just like the bourbon
before

early saturday morning i woke
to a smell lost over winters breath,
that of barbeque and meat

stepping outside i could see the
smoke down the street so i walked
down

black man by the name of Myron
was sitting on his steps watching
as these rabbits jumped over top
of one another

he noticed me and motioned me
over

jumping off the steps like a old
man turning young again he
grabbed a white paper plate
and opened the grill

what is it about black men and
bbq, how do they cook it so well?

thanking him, i said i should go,
there was a ton of meat cooking
and i didn’t want to interrupt his
family function

Myron mentioned he lived alone,
that his wife Glenda had passed
away three springs ago and the kids
have all moved away

staring at him closer i realized how similar
Myron was to my own father, only a different
color

my dad sits on the porch during the day sometimes
and i wonder what it is he’s thinking about
when he sits out there

i imagine it’s the same thing we all think about,
death … when is it gonna happen
but before we die we worry about other things, too

like is this our last meal?

really
i thought i was being sold
time share

white suit, black tie, easy voice
clean fingernails and a wedding ring
laughed nervously and never made eye contact

i offered him a cup of coffee
he declined
so i sat down and said
go ahead, sell me on whatever you are selling

that’s when began to talk about heaven

standing up he looked down
i grabbed a bottle of jack and a glass
sat back down

that’s when i began to tell him about hell

his hands were now shaking as i told him about
the time outside my sisters hospital room i said:
**** god
and my mom said
don’t say things like that
and i said it again

he gently interrupted and asked if i
believed in his lord

no, i said, and even if i did,
i’d still tell him to *******

he got up and left, not looking at me once

i didn’t have any cash on me anyways.

a seed
that’s all it takes
just a seed
and some dirt
and some water
and eventually
a tree will
grow where,
once, nothing was

a seed

a seed
that’s all it takes
just a seed
and some death
and some tears
and eventually
fear will
grow where
once, nothing was

i went to her grave again last night
over eight hours away, i went and laid next
to her ashes
i brought her brand of cigarettes
her brand of beer
i brought her a crossword puzzle

she didn’t have much to say
so i did most of the talking
as usual

like when i was six and Tony Bluto would
pick on me during recess, i’d slam my book
bag into the ground and hide underneath the
kitchen table as she’d peak under her glasses
as she’d peck at the typewriter

“problems, Denny,” she would say

and i’d unload

when i went to her grave again last night,
over eight hours away, her ashes laying there
alone, i unloaded

but nothing happened, nothing was said,
and i ended the evening with a question

“how do i become a better person,”
and that’s when it began to rain

***** made it rain.

for most of us our first love song
was written in the middle of a first grade day,
between reading and math class
where instead of
1+1=2
it was
you+i=forever

even though forever was an apple sauce after dinner
and a kiss on the forehead of your loving mother

heartbreak was the next day when you realized that
each day at lunch time would be an opportunity the
universe would offer up a chance at a tear or two in front
of an unforgiving school, in front of the first girl you'd
hate forever

even though forever was a game of catch and a
nice long talk about girls with your loving father

forgiveness was so much easier in the days before body
hair and friday night despair, when you could sit on your
wooden chair and carve next to Jody's name her replacement

for most of us our first love song
was written in the middle of a first grade day,
between recess and time to go home,
where instead of
1+1=2
it was
you+i= forever

if only it were that easy
that i was actually just ink
(instead of blood)
it would make you erasing
the beginning of our story
(when we said forever)
so much ******* easier.