I saw the two chevy minuet in the alley.
I heard Maggie call 'Hello' to a toilet flushing
And Angie say she guesses I'm not home.
Sammy laughed 'Maybe Grandpa's napping in his chair --
Eyes half open and head thrown back
His teeth slip to tempt his chin.'
I was a shivering bombadier when I married Maggie.
Angie was eight months old when I first said Hello.
She was thirteen when I lost her
when She'd grown too big to dance on her daddy's toes.
And I was but what 23 in Memphis,
22 through Dresden and Essen.
My think weak tin canteen's bent seam's slow dribble wet
My hip with each step.
I learned my airport and train station lessons in
The heavy heave and whistle of my breath.
And now here I am in my own uptown closet
Alone with my cauliflower nose.
But on an overnight train home
Over open dirt years ago
I lost what I'd known all along
And from then on it would be only to myself
I'd belong.
And is this my last stand?
A call to arms to lower back and finally stop asking
Each other what's wrong
All the time.