uncle dennis

by Stephen Clark Okawa


his fingers told his sad tale.
“they used to be covered
in lady juice,”
he’d say.
“now
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
trying
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
and
got in line
with the other rested middleweights
ready to take another beating.

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