Gin Wife

Mix booze

With a narcisist

And you have 

A rough cocktail 

To swallow.

There’s many times

That I look back

And I wished I’d never 

Saved her life.

It’s true.

Near the end 

When I did 

Sleep with her

She snored terribly

And smelled

Even worse.

There was actually

A division line 

Through the bedroom.

Our bedroom.

It went right down the center

Of the bed.

Her side

Was a disaster

Stacked with papers

And stale clothes.

My side

Was neat and tidy

Vacuumed twice a week.

I had to live 

Separately from her throes.

So much anger

And fighting.

About WHAT?

It was the booze

And narcissism.

Talking

And arguing

And fighting

Physically.

I can remember

Being at work

Waiting for the phone calls

From my children

On a daily basis.

That their mom was fucked up.

Too fucked up 

To take care of them.

Too fucked up 

To make them dinner.

That they were scared.

I stopped all of that.

I put an end to it.

There’s times.

Many.

When I wish that

I didn’t come home.

Home

To find her

Whining like an injured animal

Dying.

The phone calls

Would’ve stopped.

I wouldn’t have had 

To take my kids

To see their mom

In some flea-bag motel

On the side of Route 202

To see their mom

In the midst of years

Of trying to get her shit together.

But me...

I’m doing alright.

I’m in the state of NJ.

We 

Have archaic alimony laws

In which

I pay her money.

Just saying...

I wish

I never came home

That day

To get my son’s lunch.

Cocoa

My dog is 15 years old

He’s still a champ

As far as senior age goes

He has a hard time getting up

It’s a struggle

His hips are going

He walks slow

And when I let him out

In the morning

He pees for 30-40 seconds straight

Nonstop

You’d think he was pissing

His last piss

One of them will be

His teeth are receding

Or falling out

He smells terrible

But I don’t tell him

I just wash and shampoo him

As often as I can

He doesn’t like it

He tolerates it

Sometimes baring his teeth

Under a curled black lip

I have to remind him

Who I am

These days

He’s shedding so much hair

I fear for his masculinity

I vacuum it up daily

Filling canisters

And dumping them 

In the trash

When I tell him

I love him

He looks at me unresponsive

Or quizzically

Through foggy brown eyes

We’ve been through a lot together

He’s slow to take a treat

He’s maintenance now

Long past are the days

Where I threw a stick

Out into the Delaware River

Over and over

It didn’t matter

How far I threw it

Cocoa 

Would always

Swim out and retrieve it

Bring it back to shore

And tease me

With it

Running around

Refusing to give it up

Easily

Baring perfect teeth

Sunk into the wood’s flesh

Growling

I miss that fight 

My friend

Medicine Cabinet

After exploring the meds

In my parent’s 

Medicine cabinet

While recently visiting

To see exactly what they were on

And pilfering

A hand-full

Of the good stuff

Shutting the twin doors

Looking into

The sterilized mirrors

Staring

Realizing

That someday

Not too far off

The commute towards death

Is closer 

Than I think

That I will 

Be much like my parents

I can see the 

Same shared physical features

There in the glossy glass

They are smaller

Than I last remember them

And move slower

Outside the bathroom door

I know

They visit the doctor

On a regular basis

I recall the denture cream

The Preparation H

The pain-aids

The brown and white

Plastic pharmacy bottles

With laser printed labels

On clean shelves

Behind Home Depot mirrored glass

On my way out

Wiping my hands

On peviously un-used

Pretty guest towels

With a seashore theme

And kiss them goodniight

The lawn sprinklers came on

As I was walking out the door

Being careful to protect my pockets

And their acquired bounty

So they wouldn’t get wet

Until I reached my car

Got into the stale smell
Shut the door

And waved

Good-bye

Honeysuckle

Honeysuckle

I just pushed my face

Into a wild honeysuckle patch

While walking in the woods.

The smell was rousing and spirituous.

Then nature’s art

Of a small, simple, smooth flower

Of ivory and gold.

Much like

When I’m divining

Between her thighs

The nectar

Seeps forth

Aromatic

And seducing.

Beauty is everywhere.

If you turn over some stones

Get close to the ground

Listen...

Perhaps...

I pull my head 

Out of honeysuckle.

I press forward on.

Always.

Peonies

Spring is the peonies bursting

Through tight green woolen cloaks

Swollen pink

Like dog flesh

Firm

Eager and ready 

To do the deed

Strip Club

“Yo Slick!”

“This is Beverly, the new bartender.”

“She’s gonna be here six nights a week.”

“Doesn’t she have nice skin?”

He asked

Rubbing his fingertips

Up and down her pale arm.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Beverly sweetie...I’m buying Slick’s drinks.”

“Wotcha gonna have?”

She asked me.

The lighting was terrible in this dive.

Yellowish.

“What kind of vodka do you have?”

I was met with a blank stare.

“You have Grey Goose?”

She looked at me.

She went to check the bottles.

“No.”

She said coming back.

“Just gimme what you got.”

“Hey! You have olives or a twist?”

Again with the hollow stare.

“I’ll just take it straight up.”

She poured a small glass 

Of watered down vodka.

I looked at G

Clinking glasses.

“What a dump!” 

I tapped my glass against his.

There were about 3 or 4 girls in bikinis

Taking turns on the pole

Unenthusiastically.

There wasn’t enough of a crowd

To really get them dancing.

Instead they hovered 

Around the bar 

And got groped for tips.

I felt an ass or two.

I finished my drink.

Since the vodka

Was so disappointing

I asked Beverly

What kind of whiskey she had.

Again

“What kind do you want?”

Again

“What kind do you have?”

She went and looked.

She slurred through them 

With me

And I told her

I would do the Black Label.

She was already onto something else.

“Let’s go out and smoke.”

G said.

“I got some dynamite.”

“Let’s go then.”

“Hey gorgeous!”

I said loudly across the bar

On my way out.

“No ice in my drink!  I’m stepping outside for a smoke with G and I’ll look for it on the bar

  when I get back.”

I winked at her.

We walked past the pool table

And through the entrance

Out into the cold night.

G immediately lit up a bowl.

Cars passed on the highway

To our right.

Ironically

There was a Friends Of Bill

Right next door.

We proceeded to get lifted.

We went back inside

And sat down.

Still no drink.

A few more tits.

A few more asses.

Beverly comes up

And asks me 

If I want a drink.

I roll my eyes at G.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Black Label.  No ice!”

She then disappeared 

For at least five minutes.

She came back

And proceeded to make some drinks

And put them down in front of us.

“We didn’t order those.”

I told her.

“Omg! Omg! Omg!  Don’t say anything!”

“I forgot who ordered these!”

She looked around the bar.

There was only like

15-20 of us sitting there.

She finally found them.

At this point the owner 

Is behind the bar

Watching her

Out of the corner 

Of his eye.

She bounces back

And asks what she can get me.

G’s still got a half of a glass.

“Really?”

I ask her.

I have no idea what she is on.

“Black Label.  No ice.”

She sways and grabs the bottle.

She puts down two shot glasses.

She spills into the first

And starts on the second.

“I only wanted one!”

I exclaimed.

“C’mon!”

G said.

“A chaser!”

“G.  I’m only drinking one.”

“Fine.”

I was about to pick my shot up

When Beverly slurred

“Wait!”

She spilled Black Label

Into the second shot glass

With an unsteady hand.

She capped the bottle

And put it down.

She then raised the glass

Looking me in the eye

And smiled.

We both swallowed.

“Here’s to your first night!”

I toasted.

I looked at G laughing.

I started laughing.

Beverly stumbled away.

“Holy shit!”

I said 

Looking at him.

We were both laughing hard now.

“G.”

I said.

“She might have nice skin, but she’s never going to make it six nights.”

Le Deux Gamins

It’s unfortunate.

The more that the years pass

The more distant the memory.

Or was it a dream?

When I sat outside

In my boisterous years

At a cafe table

Set up

In front of 

Le Deux Gamins

In the warm spring

In the West Village.

Watching the morning sun explode

Salmon orange

In the east

Inbetween

And above the dark buildings

Canyonizing 

The city 

Yawning before me.

I was eating the best almond croissant

That NYC had to offer.

And when the French waitress or waiter

Went back inside

I poured brandy 

Into our over-sized soup bowl

Cafe au laits.

We would watch

The last flambouyant creatures 

Walk past

Shedding all-nighters

From the Stonewall

Or the Monster

Just around the corner.

After

We would take our newspapers

Or journals

Out to Sheridan Square

Which was really not a square

But more of a triangle

And listen to the late morning unfold 

Around us

Amongst unfurling green leaves

And flowering buds

Hustlers and homeless people

Garbage tumbling in the breeze

New spring birds

Figuring 

Their 

“Jump-In” level

To the old school guard

Against the symphony 

Of traffic.

At the time

The 

Rest of the day

Was a multicolored jawbreaker

A syrupy gift

That lasted slowly

Against the pace 

Of the city

Unfolding

With every footstep 

I took.

Back then 

It was not unheard of

To walk by foot

Back and forth

From the East Village

To the West

And 

Vice versa.

Not much else of importance existed 

Below Canal Street

Or above 14th.

Paradise was here

Where

Every step I took

Was a piece of confectionery magic.