uncle dennis

by Stephen Clark Okawa

his fingers told his sad tale.
“they used to be covered
in lady juice,”
he’d say.
they’re caked in putty
instead of pussy.”
he’d shake his head
tilt his beer
focus on Bat Masterson
getting lost in his black and milds
with his all his might
to stop a lone tear in his eye
from leaping to its death.
he’s silent throughout the night
until he remembers something
something that made him hold on
to the magic of tomorrow
where anything is possible.
“did you know
that crickets eat dried rose petals?”
he’d say to me.
“i’d like to learn something like that
each day,”
he’d say.

at night
i’d hear him sobbing.
in the morning
he’d repaired himself well enough
to fake another eight hours.
he stumbled his way
into his painting van
got in line
with the other rested middleweights
ready to take another beating.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s