2 Poems
Dogged
I
On the phone, shorted benzos again
by 5 pills for 3 months in a row
so there is an owed explanation. “Isn’t it a crime
to change a prescription without the knowledge or consent
of the patient?” Amanda is leaving the clinic in August.
By then the program will be dissolved.
Now who will I freak out to with practiced restraint?
Bill from maintenance is in the shower
trying to get cold water out of it. I waited
three knocks to answer the door, then stooped:
I’m sorry, I’m on the phone with a doctor.
He leaves, asking me
where the dog is.
There are three explanations.
The dog lives with my friend now, because
1. I’m too sick to take care of him.
2. I can’t afford to pay for him.
3. None of your fucking business.
II
I go with 1 and 2.
It hurts to be nice,
to be honest, demure all the time,
to martyr the living self
and hate it.
It collects.
But my wax
is at 1:30 today
and I’m determined
to make it.
III
The wax tears at my face
the way packing tape defurs the furniture,
his fur mostly white, wiry.
I stopped wearing black for him,
it gets into everything.
I won’t let it get to me.
Honestly, I’m relieved.
I have so much extra time now,
not sweeping.
Sky King
for Richard Russell
Before soil, air
Before death, flight
Before you, I
wanted to talk
to survivors
of their own loss.
So gracefully
you narrate your flight,
you respond to the voices
of the calm
air traffic controllers
advising us where to land.
You were telling them
we don’t plan to land.
You told them, we vomited.
My mouth stuck open,
captive with air,
head tilted upward,
breathless.
I want to return
to light that sky,
but I am in the center
of the earth
where I can’t hear voices,
but I can hear
heartbeats
slowing.