impress the young girls
raised on romantic movies
self-centered young men
bloated on their own egos
in borrowed fashion statements

they can talk the talk
in caressing vocal tones
intellect barren
originality lost
words as empty as they are

I remember how he almost stumbled
going down the aisle
in Our Lady of Peace
to pray the Sunday
before his operation
he seemed frail to me
that day
and I was embarrassed
as if I had a right to be
this man who won 26 fights
one summer
who raised 7 brothers and sisters
because he was the oldest son
after his stepfather died
and then his mother
took them all in
to his home with my mother
newly wed
counted out his tips
on the kitchen table
all those years of his life
those tips that kept us solvent
inflated his salary
to make us almost middle class
the glasses sliding down his proud nose
his hand brushing his hair
as he squinted at the line on boards
cut lumber
put up a new kitchen wall
put a roof on the garage
panelled the bedroom
worked every day…

I am like some weary traveler
in a hotel room
lost between the shower and the ice machine
with plans to come home
for the holidays
we would have coffee
a candle flickers on the table
your hands play with your spoon
I watch you brush the hair from your forehead
loosen the scarf at your neck
your eyes look beyond me
to some future that almost was
and I fade from the table
stranded on some stretch of highway
a long way from home

a deflated fist
leaking puddles of blood on
the floor at your feet

he can’t remember the song
just the image
her naked dancing
candles the only light in the room
he’s sitting on the floor
leaning back against the couch
the dog asleep above him
and her hips sway
the light playing shadows
where lust lives
and he will bury his head soon
immersed in shadows himself
and hips will be joined
on that floor
that rug
lost in what should have lasted forever
but is only a memory now

for the first time
in many years
I heard sorrow in your voice
the other night
as you said you wished
I was there
but more than miles separate us now
there are those years
and the hurt
we both inflicted
if only you spoke that way
before I left
maybe I would still be there
but now the only sound louder
than the pain in your voice
is the crack
my heart made
in my chest

there is nothing worse
than a misunderstanding
hurt feelings result
a smile becomes one more frown
fondness goes backward again

“Out of the depths I cry to Thee, Oh Lord;
Lord, hear my voice.”

when no one else is listening
when no one else is there
it’s comforting to think
to believe
one’s voice isn’t lost
no matter how far one has drifted
out to sea