and we’re playing
that game where we drink
every time the channel two radar
pings by a major highway
the guy next to me
frames water towers
for a living, fumbles under
his armpit toward a welding scar
that feels like a bruised pear
outside the rain is smoking out
the litigated wildlife !25! it’s cold
a handful of spruce huddles
just past the ranch lights,
leering over
our shadows bear us up
the top branches
and I’m afraid again,
the asylum they make of voices
don’t mistake me, I’ve killed
a rabbit with a lawn mower
but I’ve seen this guy buy one
from a pet store
and eat its heart out
But what is it !10! / !10! you want?
Beyond money, the promise
of someone to roll
his quartz skull back
into this named world,
is that it?
still we’re drinking straight
from a jug of sweet red
and his teeth are rabid
we probably look like a couple
of