It’s not enough that I’m alive
I must also have a massive hamburger
crisp lettuce tomatoes wide as the wheels
of my son’s Tonka dump truck I must
witness a chef dip like a layman
a stiff brush into a vat of salted butter
and glaze my hamburger roll with strokes
gentle as a finger comforting a weeping toddler’s cheek
and if it is raining let it be two drum stores fist fighting
and if it is spring let it be the gloomiest spring
let the mud spray its blood through the air
and the tulips pushing through the earth
are just the broken crowns of fallen kings
I want a beer that will get me so drunk
tomorrow will arrive windblown and out of breath
like an ex begging to get back together
I will say no to God the way a red flag unravels
I will adorn the mirrors in their best little black dresses
When I say we’re going out I mean we are
going anywhere but inward—oh father
I thought I’d built in me a lake cottage
where your death could live I thought
I’d taken the correct measurements
poured my grief into a solid foundation
What I made was too small way too small
And now your huge death is knocking
What if I set the house on fire