high-powered couple

put on that black dress, baby
we'll run this village dry with alcohol
tears of rodeo laughter. chemical work
makes tired smiles, but you swing now, you
swing when you walk--not i. these papers
only speak the death of families, souls,
children, love, honor: papers make no smiles
nor swing, only a strange empty sleep.
ah, but why tell the tender? we'll drink
the finest ones last,
brag above ourselves and link
gilded arms with real gold. absorb every
slipping frenzy, grin wickedly
at last second's unremembered joke
grasping on someone's arm. who are we? i'm
the lawyer, you're the doctor so
we own this town! we arrived here! banish
the grim visage, false respect will flush my
exhausted veins: most potent drink tonight.
but when we're in the car driving home
you can see, if you will, that anyway
i'm not that, not that, not that, not
a lawyer, not worth all that
much, like you're not a doctor
and the gild was always so sugary:
it rots the teeth you know.
and from here to fifty years from now
there might not be many left.




6/29/08 - i made a phone call today and someone called me "sir" and such and such and they probably had no idea that i'm the office sludge that puts together other people's desks even though i wear a tie.