a little joke

a little joke

Where is she when I turn down the lights?
Let the CD skip,
the candles burning down the house.
Outside a hooker sings psalms,
while a deaf passerby keeps beat
with the soles of his shoes.
The pregnant skies chuckle,
swelling gray spectres roiling in glee.
Their laughter shakes loose flurries.
The joke's over my head.
"Hey, it's all right," I say,
"I'm not much in the mood for laughing."
So I flip the clouds a big finger,
turning away from the window.

Where is she while I lay face down,
humming the tunes to be played at my funeral?
The notes are all wrong,
tripping over themselves as a drunk's eulogy.
The carpet kept quiet, quiet.
With one more bottle she'll arrive;
I can smell it on my breath, she's close.
She knows the words before I do;
crouches and whispers them in my ear.
I laugh a little,
"Hey, I think I get it now," I say,
shifting a little to glance at the window.
"I bet it's funnier when it's not at my expense."

A kitten on amphetamines
is scratching at the door,
a one-eyed dog winks
from a pile of rags in the corner.
The hooker's passing by the window,
tapping on rosary beads.
The deaf man keeps his eyes closed,
he's playing at being a rock.
Not a bad idea, I think,
and shutter up the lights.
Kick the kitten from the door;
I stumble to the hall, crashing
against an oak secretary. Collapsing
at its feet. Sleep.


In my dreams I'm speaking,
but the breath is hissing in my throat.
I think I'm praying, I never quite know
if prayer can be just one name, her name
over and over. She's here, never really,
but she's here.
She's singing psalms back at me,
and I'm tapping with my feet.
The clouds are chuckling down at us;
for once - just once - I'm laughing back.