The Men In My Life

I'm three or maybe four,
and I'm fast asleep in my parents' bed,
and I'm dreaming.

I'm dreaming of a cave,
and it's dark, and I am alone,
and I'm crying.

He's sixty or maybe seventy,
and he's laying in his wife's bed,
and he's dying.

I'm dreaming of a butterfly,
and it's flying so close to my face,
and I'm screaming.

I'm screaming and he's dying,
and I wake up and he's dead.

I'm nineteen, but just barely,
and I'm sitting in the garage of my parents' house,
and I'm smoking.

I'm thinking about you,
and it's late, and I am alone,
and I'm crying.

He's eighteen, halfway to nineteen,
and he's laying in my bed,
and he's dying.

I'm driving home from school,
and I'm speeding as much as I can,
and I'm silent.

I'm silent and he's dying,
and I get home and he's dead.