The windows weep for wilder air
to sweep the ghost imprisoned where
I sleep these widow weedy days;
your smell still bathes my pillow case –
love’s detritus and battle stains
adorn the sheets I will not change.
I rub the pane and through the swish
see women spitting gossip lips:
the sideways nod and lifted trunk,
those folding arms that say harrumph!
The Valiums accumulate;
I maunder by until it’s eight
when I can open up the plonk –
sure, I can stop just when I want,
but let it still the whispered hiss
imperilling this edifice
I built with you, my handsome toad,
who sought solace within the stove.
Come, let us draw the blind to black
and make me liquid of your gas.
