Good to Hear Your Voice
Did he come to a good end?
What would be a good end?
Not a generous one …
That would have been a house,
an Eichler split-level
like the one he repudiated;
a wife like the girls
he described, stoned, at length,
who had shot him down; let’s throw in
at least two kids now setting up
their second firms.
Perhaps at the end he would have called me,
but why? He wouldn’t be in twelve-step,
and had no need to make amends.
I hope it wasn’t
in the same room near the airport,
the same clothes calcifying
under worse, the unfinished sketch.
I’ll never know, unless one day I hear
from the police: he had
and now they have
my number.
