With what words could I express the comely
Cascading of your silvered curls still golden?
How I wish to comfort and make you see
That I pay no heed to the thoughts of men
Or the three decades between our ages.
For what is life without wonder and reach?
What are young girls? Books with no pages.
They have much to learn and little to teach.
If this argument does not prove me true
And your strange doubts darken into despair
Remember your beauty the years will renew
And in my eyes you are forever fair.
Do not worry, love. Let the seasons bring
Songs old and new, to cherish, and to sing.
My steps stir the wind
As my breath touches the leaves
The air becomes me
Our Dead Child
Do you remember our darling Billy,
How with untied shoes he’d rove
And burn his tongue on the stove?
Remember the cup from which he drank
And the putrid growths that took his throat?
It was herpes, and that would denote
An origin from your hand and a place
I would rather not say in the presence
Of lisping Willy’s fading memory.
Your fish tank took up too much time
And the crawdad claw sales operation
Was merely a sham of an invocation
Of an avuncular nature. Pleasing spirits,
You killed our child. Dead uncles should rest,
For a niece too fond of them is not blessed.
Your cavern’s heat forced our son to meet
An early demise, yet I do not despise you.
Remove your clothes to reveal the mess
Straining the fibers of your dress.
Let’s stop fighting over the lost boy,
He’s even uglier in death than life
And you, you whore, are still my wife.
Let me put rich red shiraz in the cup
From which our dear Billy once drank
Cheers! The world is our septic tank.