Balancing the Scales

Balancing the Scales

It’s a nice try
but that softshoe routine
isn’t gonna work on me anymore.
Not as long as your hair
remains that long
and your smile that electric.

It’s small and purple and
echoes my first love
and at that time you were three.
At least the fighting
on the plains
stopped since then
and we can all get along
like costume jewelry in a wildfire.

While you were dawdling
and swimming
and choking on afternoons,
I secured a burial plot –
the one by that corner office you always wanted.

Do me a favor, won’t you?
You simple bastard,
it’s been two years
since you’ve eaten –
how long since you’ve been hungry?
The fish aren’t biting but I am
and my knees just gave out.

At least we can glory in the nudity
and 8 feet high snowdrifts,
we’ll always have that
as long as bubbly creek still bubbles
and the ghosts of my blood
populate this city.

I wouldn’t have believed it
but your hand is softer
than heaven
and two times as strong.

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