The Gronk has a punctured lung
the paper says
and you can still see the hit
and still feel how
you were glad for it
after what he did to us
two years ago
catching that pass.
What Christ thinks of football I don’t want to know,
but I can see his eye
and hear his breath,
and I’d best be off
before I think some more.
At the rat-a-tat. I don’t like it.
The kills, I don’t like it.
tumbling, hulking soldiers
dropping – I don’t like it. No,
I don’t like it.
But I like him.
She held him, not trusting him to find the chair.
“We’re family,” she said. “Like family.
You don’t remember?”
He shook his head.
“You’ve come to our house for thirty years.”
He shrugged sorry.
“I have to go with him.”
He knew him, but not his name.
And later, after the coffee, he went.
For when he was young he could go where he liked.
But now was time for where he’d rather not go.
R.I.P. Fr. Piet van der Pol S.S.S. (D. 19 February 2017).
When you have children your heart
leaves the safety of the rib cage.
The bones open up and the thing is out there
to torrents of bruises and dyes.
Grief and drugs
sit at the table.
I’ve never had a lover
as pretty as you.