Tuesday, March 17, 2009

A Beer at Jack's Place

-wherefore art thou?

Everything is here
except the last little bit
eaten by the dog
so they say they can’t determine this intention

but I’m pretty sure it’s clear.
It’s just beauty.
And for those of you who think that isn’t enough
that the sadness counts too,
don’t worry it’s in there.

Besides, he left the end scratched into the plaster
of the bathroom wall with the last razor blade in the house
before he escaped onto the rooftop, vanished.
The directions are there, just in case you wanted to follow him
from this coast
the other coast where the journey ends at a little hilltop house
bursting to the seems with a love for just about everything.
This was all before the fire started,
before the flood waters rose
before his liver quit.
But who cares, everyone goes at some point.

It was all there for whoever bothered to see.
And that’s nothing about whoever bothered to say thank you.

But we knew that,
tipping a beer on the street in mid afternoon,
talking about everything but
what it will mean
when people like us, stop coming to the houses
of people like him.
But what of it, huh?
We head down 20th street, hoping Uncle Jack is at the ‘Root
and that there is still a seat at the bar.


  1. a day of two Jack's was a great day. I don't say it much because i'm too busy complaining about things, but you've been writing some of the strongest poems lately

  2. gee thanks. and yes, two jacks are better than one.