Unwanted sudden surprises like that
stringy, rippling purple vein—the one not
there yesterday—climbing my ankle, fat
curling the hip, or old muscle scar shot
loose during a light workout. She always
sneaks up after a handful of cocktails:
Some great pros’cutor you blew it, she says,
hissing rapid-fire in my ear, her frail
hand punching my arm…‘member ‘89
drunk bum burn up in shack near building mall
you never check ol’ high school buddies fine
office tower they rise up there…That’s all.
She passes as I turn in the drive, same
as always, murmuring our grandkids’ names.
Roger Armbrust
July 15, 2009
