Every Sunday at 9 PM he brings his bloat back to the broken home the trespasser with his belly Old Bill Cody in his Mod boots age 40 hanging over his jeans age 16 spewing the dead buffalo of his ego over my carpet. He polecats the house with a stink Lysol can't kill. The cat and I hackle it a half hour while we nod and smile the courtesies of divorce over the kid who cools it. When we pay our severance of good-byes the weekly mortgage on an abandoned house and a child split Solomon-wise I lock him out boot and belly. But he leaves behind the cadaver of our account. Faithful to the grave, once again I bury our dead and turn against stones walk from the potter's field of the past. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LITTLE DUTCH GARDEN by HARRIET WHITNEY DURBIN CHARLIE MACHREE by WILLIAM JAMES HOPPIN POMONA by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 3. THE VOLUNTARY PRISONER by PHILIP AYRES PSALMS 71. PRAYER AND SONG OF THE AGED CHRISTIAN by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |