Tyler Gobble
As silly as asking a crooked fence post to draw you
A picture of a snowflake. As not so different
From my Uncle Al, who every day brought my mother
The paper after father ran off with her sister Aunt Ada
And the fake leg. It was important to me
To see his face through the little peephole before heading
Off to school. As my town is. My face barely pokes
Over the corn, bones like stalks stuck
In the mud ‘til someone strong helps me haul
Them away. As the poem M wrote about mangos
Nailed to the abandoned church. On a Sunday she imagines
She does this, long after everyone has gone to Florida
To paddleboard themselves to death. As death’s brightest
Wreath around your neck when I come back haunting
But kind in a nice button-up shirt. As grumpy as a crab
In the creek. As if I can even pretend to write this poem.
What, with us in this condition, and all. As drunk
As a skunk with a hunk of luck up his sleeve. No, no, please
Don’t leave, I mean that with affection. As the day withers
And the apple trees stay the same but what about me.
As not another what about me. As not another
What about me. As I hand over my delicacies to the prime
Minister of Azerbaijan and thank heavens I finally arrived.
Do you like the berry-sprinkled pork chop?
Do you prefer this hunk of cheese? As a wink and a pinch
In one breathe. As I motion my love to the door, she extends
Herself for another glass of wine, another shrimp kabob.