Three Years

Three Years

I’m going to tell you a story.
And I swear that it’s true.
You thought you were alone
When it happened to you.

That’s how it flounders.
That’s how it weakens.
It takes from your soul.
Leaves you bound in the deep end.

I know why you’re here.
I know who you’d shoot.
She’s here and she’s there.
And she’s married to you.

You listened to your grandma.
Listened to your grand aunt Mandy
They said to marry her.
You thought she’d be handy.

Barely 19 years old.
Now living under water.
Promised you’d bring her back.
She’s the minister’s daughter.

She’s never been kind.
Never paid attention.
Took what she wanted.
“No thank you!” she mentioned.

She got caught in a tangle.
On the pool room table.
Two or three times.
I could see from this angle.

You need to keep your head.
You need to keep serene.
You have to deal with this.
But you have to be for real.

She paid me ten dollars.
And now I know why.
She wanted your friends to know.
And that ain’t no lie.

Paid more than once.
More than I can count.
She’s doing it now.
Of that there’s no doubt.

So, when you get home tonight.
Don’t get in the bed.
Sit in a chair.
Keep your wits instead.

You can stare all night.
At the curve in her neck.
She’ll sleep so soundly.
What did you expect?

None of this is real.
It’s some kind of dream.
Just a way for the devil.
He lets off some steam.

When you get up tomorrow.
You call down her crew.
You call her mom and her dad.
Bring her brothers down, too.

When they arrive in a car.
When they arrive in that ford.
You can tell by their faces.
They’ve done this before.

You invite them all in.
But, it’s not big enough.
You wake up your neighbor.
Rent a big U-haul truck.

You pack up the kitchen.
You pack up the dining.
You focus on packing.
Ignoring the whining.

You pull up the carpet.
Remove kitchen tiles.
Take the soap from the soap-dish.
Box the lint from your eyes.

You pack the scraps of tissue.
Left on the tissue roll.
Label the packs of lies.
You just took control.

Take the change from your pocket.
Add it to the pile.
Wipe the tears from your eyes.
It’ll be a while.

Then you sit with yourself.
You sit all alone.
Apply balm to your wounds.
Love what’s left of your home.