The cars passing

outside the bedroom window

sound like

waves

lapping

hungrily at the

shore

and they are

ceaseless for this late an

hour

and for the

first time in

years

I find the

wall at the

other side of the

bed.

And so I

unbuckled my

belt and let the pants

drop to my ankles,

the

buckle

softly finding my

foot with a quiet thud
--

a deliberate gesture of

silence for the

boys downstairs.

I climbed into the

empty bed,

and tried to

remember to

enjoy its

newly discovered

size.

He
hung
himself
from a
basketball
hoop
in
the
park next to
the lake.

The soft
breezes
pushed him
to
and
fro
and his
toes
pointed
all the way
down.

Abandon the place
you're at,
rally the troops and grab
six packs of
tall beers to be
carried by the yokes
on single fingers as we
stroll along the lakefront
in search of a
suitable place to
drink and
chat and
laugh.

A gentleman's dinner of
cold beer and
cold apples.

the butter crackled
like cicada shells under
high-tops on sidewalks.

Even the
quarter machine is a
scumbag
at this hour
and will take
my nasty folded
dollar bills
without question.

And perhaps it was my
father's bad move when
he taught me how to
break cleanly
because I find myself
leaning over too many local
pool tables, lining up shots
and getting better with each
one I take and each
beer I drink on these
dirty Tuesday-Friday nights,
getting closer to a perfect game.

And I wipe the
nasty well whiskey out of my
stubbled beard with the
back of my wrist and
try to keep my hand
chalked and ready to shoot the
next game,
maybe for beers if that
works out but,
if not just line the shot with
my wonky eyes and
try not to
talk too much
shit.