|
Crack Head Tim
He lived next door with Vicky the Drunk,
who screamed their sad business
all over the street. They ate
carryout every day but nobody's lawn
looked better than theirs. On good days
we'd see Tim pushing the mower,
his pale skin almost gelatinous
in the sun. He was the kind of guy
who looked worse when he smiled.
Their bedroom window was so close
to ours sometimes it felt like
we all slept together, especially
those nights they fought, which
was often, and she'd throw him out
and he'd pound on the door,
bellowing her name until the cops
came and hauled him away.
One winter night I woke up fast
with a bright light shining
in my eyes, a car engine revving
in the street and don't you dare
motherfucker don't you dare
and I thought he wouldn't,
I thought he couldn't,
but he drove his car up over the lawn
smack into the house, and after the
crash and splinter and thud he spun
his wheels a while in the begonias
beneath the snow and I thought damn,
I could never love a woman that hard.
|
