for Charlie Smith
I don't mind crying
in the NYU library
holding your new book
reading your first poem--
as sadness presses
against my chest
like forearm of a lover
rising to leave--
feeling loss of your wife
from heroin overdose
and wondering how
you handle license:
whether you had a wife
and if she used
and if she died.
I reflect breath-fast
on drug's ironic name.
As I reach bottom
I read the last line
whisper "stop there"
and smile slightly
as I turn the page
to learn you do.
Roger Armbrust
January 10, 2001
