Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ONE WEEKEND HOME, by MICHAEL BURNS



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ONE WEEKEND HOME, by            
First Line: You, sir, are a lying sack of shit
Subject(s): Home


You, sir, are a lying sack of shit,
says a pretty girl to a man
at the pool table, and he misses
his shot. She gets up
and kisses him full on the lips.

I've been painting
my mother's house all day.
I've come home to find
my brother is sick and not himself,
and I don't know what to say

except I wish I'd been
sitting in that girl's lap.
The man leaned down to shoot
the 8 in the corner, and she made
her valentine ass the target.

On my way back, I stop
at the bridge and throw
a rock and listen for the splash.
One time a light came down
here on a boy, a Pentecost.

Someplace in the night,
Mother has forgotten
I'm home, and she cries out
in a fierce voice: Who's there?
It's me, I say, and then I lie

awake in my old bed,
talking to myself:
Who's me? Who's me?
-- black dog, sick dread --
but I'm namelessly happy.







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