This Might be Magic - For J.A.B.


An eye shocked open
Left to weep like a cold sore
One hour earlier your porch door
Shutting with a hydraulic hiss
I’d have us a half gallon of vodka by tonight.
Or was it After Shock you wanted?
How ironic.

Walked into that summer afternoon
Pockets and heart so full
I always had so much to carry
Whenever I crossed the highway
A visage of an erupted opossum
Flattened by my mind’s eye.
Left to rot.

The message on the machine
Taste of pain in my throat
You had just shot yourself?
I laughed, aloud
I remember now
I said, “With a pellet gun.”
Ha Ha . . .

As we rode, piled seven deep
In a Geo that shouldn’t have left
The driveway that day
The blue lights like a beacon
The blood on the shirt your mom wore
Wailing like a stripped gear
Right on the porch.

So much to tell you.
Even the cool kids were at your funeral.
I couldn’t cry, no matter how hard
I tried. I really did.
I did my best to bear you like a king.
A week ago today, you would have been
Twenty-one.

The two of us could have gone to the bar.
And ordered all the After Shock we could drink.