Brother, would you talk me down?

I’m afraid that if I stop this truck

I will be tempted to reach in between

the seats and feel the heft

of my “just-in-case.”
 


Slick earth and the ladder slipped

and I landed twenty feet below,

a broken back, bruised ribs

and a pool of eggshell white.

So much for pushing brushes.
 


Came out of the hospital so deep in the hole

they were suggesting I climb on my friends—

prescribed enough “ocean” to drown a horse,

my God.
 


Brother, I am so afraid

but not for myself no more.

If I can’t provide, I’m worth more

dead than alive, no man am I.

No man am I.
 


Woke up this morning when the screen door slammed.

Guess the kid was heading off to school.

I started east as soon as I found a box of slugs

behind some paint cans.


I am a descendent of the great William Clark,

if only somebody gave half a crap.

“You’ve had your turn!” is all I hear.

Brother, when was that?
 


There’s a place my father used to go

to shoot off some rounds and howl

as he got drunk off his ass

and shattered all the glass

in a graveyard of old television sets.
 


I’m losing reception, man.

I'm going to lose you.
I’m going.
I’m going.