In this version
the cold Texas rain
pummels the brim
of your porkpie hat
washes your ragged shoulders
as you crank the shaft
of a rusted well head
in fevered will
to spill god’s black blood
upon your parcel of dust
In another
I am texting you
the recipe for Mama’s tuna mac
so you’ll stop at the Shop ‘n Go
on your way home from the gym
though both of us know
you haven’t worked since 1995         and
you don’t drive                                     and
you’re not coming home either

In the last
you are a roshi walloping
aspirants on the meat
of their necks
with a stick of cane
as they battle their egos
to twitching lap dog submission

when the workday is done
I thumb the knots from your wings
fix you a thick belt of warm vodka
let my pants drop to the floor
and put on some Nat King Cole


About the Author

Poet and songwriter David Rosenheim lives in a solar-powered house by the sea with his wife and two boys. The Weather Band, Hugh, and Winchester Revival have released his songs on seven critically lauded records, and his poetry has been published in many fine journals including the California Quarterly, The American Journal of Poetry, The Madison Review, The North Dakota Quarterly, The San Antonio Review, The Adirondack Review, Midwest Quarterly, The Dewdrop, Broadkill Review, Plainsongs, and Common Ground. He is a graduate of Oxford University.