Believe it or not, things weren’t all that easy
for old Joe. Like the flocks of pigeons
dropping in to say “I’m full”
and emptying themselves.
Or the time Jenny Lane
made a beeline for the
fence only to find him
masturbating behind it.
But in that dress,
what did she expect?
So Joe doesn’t leave home anymore.
Doesn’t make coffee since
the amputation. Doesn’t answer
his wife because she’s dead
and answering the dead
could take years.
The roll cloud comes
like a field goal over him and
Joe sits. Holds the cup in his teeth
and smokes Lucky Strikes.
When it storms, he thinks
This is not a storm.
And when the storm speaks,
he knows it’s not his wife,
not Jenny Lane, or even a white arm
picking him up off the couch.