Are You From Far Away?
It’s the first mouth of the year,
a year I want to get to know
like an enemy. A storm of
financial stuff just passed.
You have form. No matter
how you slice it. I was a fool
on dad’s grave, a dramatic
sunset and visual memories
of drunken mountains. Big
boys breaking all of the
important rules to break
on drunken mountains.
It’s not pretty. I can’t
describe it and wouldn’t
trade it for anything in the
world. Gary carved this
thing out of a piece of
wood and put it there.
On the backbone of
the grave. All of our
names into the stone
like rungs up a ladder.
You’re a shirtless lump
with whom I’d walk
ten miles round the
lake, after midnight,
all three of us strange
and beautiful. The
perfect spot for such
Arkansas weather.
