Summer Blues

A Summer Blues

The blue wall

And the house

Holding here like a bur

In the shade of Shiver Hill

The begging and begging

For you to build again — this time

Something cool and that will last

And high up in the trees

But you aren't the man, exactly

You appeared to be

That first night on Prospect Street

So the hard mornings-after

Mornings of frying eggs

In a skillet, spitting oil against

The wall, blue as a chalk hill blue

A crust of ladybirds inked

Dead in the kitchen window

And guitar strings

That might rust to blue or ring forever

And my nights like a praying drunk —

Smashed and alone and falling asleep

Watching YouTube clips

Of catflish rising and taking

Pigeons, teal, a dog even

Off the water's broken surface

This kind of deep dark is all I will ever earn