This End Up – a poem

You once

told me you’d

end up in

a cardboard refrigerator box under

an overpass.

“Oh Neil”

I laughed.

You loved to

make me laugh.

 

You tucked me in

poking the comforter snugly around

my arrow-straight body.

“Let me papoose you.”

I giggled.

I imagined you doing this with

your daughter

years ago.

Did she giggle too?

 

I picture you

swinging your son up

onto tall hemlock shoulders.

“You can be my scout.”

Did he whoop with glee?

A fault line split you

right down

the middle.

Camouflaged.

 

I insisted we rescue tadpoles from

the plastic-lined pond.

“Billions!”

I marveled.

Catch and release, with

creaky knees, iPad camera and bucket, into

the wild just down

a country road from God’s little acre

you created.

 

You were caught DUI and no one

posted bail. Weeks later you showed up

at my door.

“I’m sorry.”

I let you in. We ate tuna fish sandwiches on

the patio.

In the end I had to

let you

go.

 

You packed up

your life. 

Embedded like tree rings in

a trunk, stowed away memories for

the ride.

“I wish you well”

I thought.

If not, Doctor Smirnoff is always

on call.

 

You slump at

the wheel in a Walmart

parking lot

in Cottonwood, AZ.

Three days later a Ford Escape is

your coffin, windows rolled up.

“Oh Neil”

I don’t cry.

You deserve a more poetic ending.

 

In the bed of your pickup, a

strawberry moon rises

cool breeze from a shooting star

scent of desert bloom we

don’t have

back east. One last tilt

of the bottle.

Yes

that will work.

 

copyright sharon watts 2019