She did not inherently enjoy
the work
It was often wet, and heavy
To pound and scrub and rinse away
his filth
his day stink
while whistling
in her thin summer dress
barefoot out in the backyard
(the only sweet touch she knew of him, the soft grass there.)

She did not find happiness or joy
in the work
He was often wet, and heavy.

In her dark childhood her mother had lied
(Dear Mother)
"Give all that you have to him Dear child
And you will find
Some small happiness"
(Oh, dear Mother).

She did not enjoy
the pain
of his pain he scrubbed over  her
wet and heavy
as he pounded and washed away
his day loss
his filth
whistling.

The Jesus in her knuckles
wept with every twist
of sock and collar
bled with every *****
of button sew.

And one drunk morning
she found him there
snuggled in his ***** puke
neck-tangled in the clothesline
blue and quiet.

The hole was easy
She had been digging a hole
for years
wet and heavy.

She whistles now and enjoys
the work
sun-dry and sweet
pinning her dresses
on the new rope
while she enjoys
the grass tickling her toes
(the only sweet touch she knew of him, the soft grass there.)

"There is danger in that night
Where shadows swell and steal the light
And strangers stroll the emptied street
With   hooded eye and shushing feet,
Where thieves and brigands skulk about...
Please, my children, don't go out!"

          "Mother! Father!  How you fuss!
             Can't you hear it call to us?
             Can't you hear its music play
             Strange refrains from Far Away?
             Young blood burns to run and leap
             Where shadows crawl and myst'ries creep!"

"Wards of Evil roam the road
Wanderers from Hells abode,
Refugees from Satans gaol'
Wicked banshies shriek and wail!
Here inside it's safe and bright...
Please don't go out in that night!"

             *"But how we yearn to wander there,
                Out into the star-spun air,
                Out where sacred secrets dwell.
                Drink, we must, from moon-kissed well!
                So let us go, let us take flight...
                For we are children of the night."

Temperance for itself was not her virtue,
Nor was meekness.
She often would boldly and loudly
Run into the fray,
Singing lullabies
Half-naked
Dragging that **** one-eyed bear
Behind her.
She wielded it like a poleaxe
Against my knee
As she dashed into
Her Nowness of being
Then out of the room,
Her new-found feet
Carrying her off
Around the next adventures corner.

I often come down here          (cold)
Into the cistern                           (damp)
Into the chalice of                     (holy)
Mouse run dark                          (secret)
Mother and Father                    (power)
Cannot hear me                          (listen)
As I splash quiet                         (deep)
With my friends                         (love)
Fuzzy and wet                              (hold)
And squeaking                            (happiness)
As we                                               (together)
Roil round                                     (joy)
And laugh.                                     (forever)

I can't find my pockets
There
Is change
Maybe
A quarter or a nickle
Or a dime
For gum
My bike waits
Leaning
Outside with the old Gum
Of others who lost
Teeth
Or pockets
While my teeth
Smile
At the old guy
Waiting
For my money
Left in lost pockets
As my bike topples!

I don't rhyme stuff just to rhyme it
Though I do it all the time.  It
Seems to follow some odd pattern
Though it doesn't seem to matter.
Words just fall into their spot.
It tends to happen quite a lot.
Take this here, for one example-
Use it as a simple sample-
I can't help it; It's my nature...
Syntax, meter, nomenclature.

(And if I've offended thee
with my skewed-phonology,
     I bow and beg and plead.
For it is only silly rhyme I
Tend to write from time to time
     To make your eyeballs bleed.
To make your eyeballs bleed I do with verse obscure and all askew
     And dire opinion spake)

So if I have offended thee
Just take a nap and you will see
My meaning when you wake.