His home, too, is caving in
forest reclaiming its pilfered space
roots in septic tank
metal losing its meddle to water
dry wall dank
You’ve seen enough when you’ve seen
strange women, unsmiling
wipe your father’s ass
or what’s left of it
heard more than you want to
vocabulary cut to two words
“Shit” and “Bitch”
knifing out of swelling moans
I’ve seen, too, blood in a bag
but not enough to go around
I’ve heard viscous fluid in lungs
asked if oxygen’s machine’s
giving or taking
Hasn’t he taken enough
in taking it away from himself
screws and duct tape
for leaking pipes?
He only wanted his life to matter
smooth curves of flower beds
five children straight as walls
Is that right?
Matter only rots?
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