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werewolf
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a clown and a jekyll,
an uncle and a terror.
a loud laugher, heavy drinker,
swing pusher, late night
self loather, wall puncher,
adopter abandoner, a king
ensconced in ruling an unseen
corner of the universe,
which breaks and fades and blacks
out, but never knows respite-
leaves everyone else happily
suicidal, suicidally happy.
He'll knock out a wall and put
in a bathroom a week before the
daughter's wedding, in installments,
a lifetime's worth of teetering installments, and cab rides home.
Fishes like a prodigy, can catch spongy minnows and generous catfish, and your aunt.
Your aunt who you've canonzized in that way you tend to do.
That aunt, who's a hospice worker,
who has no rest at home.
The pretty aunt, who is now smiling
as the music begins,
a stoicism dissolves with a beat,
an ordered frenzy.
Her anger towards him dissolves in some ancient ceremony you witness with wonder. And you've never seen her this way, her gentle eyes alight with vitality or something,
she's not a mother for a moment, she's a daughter, and her parents are watching on in horror as he dances inappropriately towards her,
as if there's no one else in the room. Look at that smile he smiles, it seems like there's more where it came from, earn your seduction. It's the smile of a man telling a dirty joke to a fourth grader, knowing it will open their eyes wide. He can catch nightcrawlers and pheasants he's shown us, he can cook them.
He can live, but never know why.
And now a new song starts,
and he's back to stillness.
he looks around the room for a drink and the people who will accompany it. My aunt's smile is now guarded.
And he's starting to dance again cautiously, as if someone new was watching, starting it again, his only map of life.
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