Through the cards and candle wax
we watched TV and you said you were drunk,
so drunk you couldn't stop drinking
and I agreed and I poured foamy beer
on my legs.
Should we move? It must be a sign?
I clutched an old guy, an old, old guy
who looked at me with salt in the corners of
his eyes and mouth and begged me to take him home
again. I didn't because of my wet legs.
Whenever you or anyone else brings up next week
I have to laugh. I have to hate the sounds of
laughing and then tell you how much you suck
and scream and run out the door to get more drunk.
We're surrounded by old dolphins,
shiny rubber creatures we get excited to bump up
against. Hold out your hands. They have photos
of themselves in desperate waters, in hotter times,
how they're now here by sheer idea, just swimming along.
I love them and I have to laugh. We're all such different
circumstances, math problems. Maybe men are big math
problems and women are meant to handle the numbers.
So for now, the long drawing I gave you will work.
little lost causes
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