There were days I went around.
You painted the garage on the phone with me,
your fishes pointed in every direction.
Don't move so much,
you'd urge.
Your antlers drooped.
Why don't you cross the bridge to Jersey just this once?
Your hands'd say through the phone,
splotches like mold on them.
What is it to feel bad for someone?
You are a successful foreman,
still with the strain in your shoulders
from pulling yourself out of debt.
I am coffee teeth,
light wool shirts,
lazy grass at the bottom of the river.
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