"My wife passed away two years ago."
You've said it now, sir,
take it back if you can;
no one will respect your tie,
your pressed shirt,
None regard your stately eyes
for fear of drowning.
You smile: why?
Perhaps you've become
accustomed to the silence
perhaps the taste of still air
in your nostrils makes you trip,
like the alcohol it's so obvious you took.
Your loneliness is radiant and sweltering
like Spica or Betelgeuse,
You took a teacher's Volkswagon beetle
and put it on the stage in high school.
Your son's a computer engineer who
programs missiles and doesn't give a fuck.
What does a man stand for at the end of his life,
and why do Virgo and Orion shine so terribly this night?
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