justice

it's three a.m.
when the dog
has to piss
 again
I'm dreaming
something about a
stranger with dark hair
and hands that have me
 almost
  *there*
but the dog
is more immediate
than what could be
the greatest orgasm of my life
so I slip on my shoes
take him out
in a subzero night
promising myself...
tomorrow
I will have the vet
cut his balls off
which won't stop him
from waking me up
in the middle of the night
but will
prevent him from
ever
getting off
like I
almost
did




making Jo smile again

she is afraid of the body
I tell her it can't hurt her
it's dead
since sometime between 2 and 4
but she is superstitious
and the body's daughter is on her way
and the funeral guys won't come
'til daylight
so I fetch the teeth
pry open the mouth
making adjustments
but the  fucking lips
won't close now
some comedienne I am...
I've made a grinning body

she is afraid of the body
with flakes of spittle
dried on its chin
so I fetch the washcloth
rubbing the rubbery the face
dislodging the unstable teeth
which have to be adjusted again
then the neck, then the shoulders
the funeral guys can worry
over the rest of it

she is afraid of the body
but I tell her it can't hurt her
'see, it's smiling' I say
smashing the hard lips
back around those
wayward teeth



settling up

he's pissed over
paying a quarter
so he washes his hands
at each sink
drying with towels
from every dispenser
when we exit
he holds the door
for three men
then waves in
a bleached woman
thus satisfied because
he cheated Carmel
out of one dollar
in urine revenue



giving up lanky limbed men


someday, I will give up drinks of water
for a round limbed grizzly man
with a belly he will let me paint
like a war shield

and I'll learn to cook.  something.
so he will say to his round limbed
grizzly friends, that girl can cook
while he pats his belly

I will go barefoot to pick flowers
for a sofa table he will make
from an old electric spool,
I'll hang his shirts on our porch

we will sleep on a slouchy mattress
under one quilt.  even in winter
because he will be warm enough
to keep me warm as well

on cold mornings, we will
build up fires with dry wood and
old newsprint we collect
I will not wear underpants

he will write letters to the editor
and fix my truck when it breaks down
I will write poems about our garden
and weld steel trees for our yard

someday, he will find a proper wife
who wears earrings and underpants
then I will go again to the river
and drink until I'm full




they're not stretchmarks
they're roadmaps


I'm girded by a silver tracery
of sons who grew like melons
and screamed us both bloody
upon arrival

this is my armor. a legacy
of unexplained love (and too
many pints of icecream)
this is where we wrote the diary
of rib cracking kicks. of
late-night hiccups

under the tight skin of my belly
my veteran son first fought
his father's fist.  we bled
together later.  today we bleed
alone, separated by time
yet tangled together still
in the net of pale webbery
I wear like a silver jewel belt

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