saskatoon

cool little cat shows up on my doorstep

she’s looking pale

a little worse for wear

she reaches out her hand and when i shake it she recoils just like a feline 

she says, “my daddy taught me how to work and and just like daddy you have strong hands”


my skin is all wrinkles like lines of longitude and latitude


and my bad deeds are all behind me like taillights
  
like tattoos on my conscience, they’re hard to remove

kitty kat is wearing jc penney sweats and air jordans all caked in mud 

she’s learned a few tricks but in spite of her wiles she says, “okay, old man” and smiles 

end up letting her stay until it’s time for her to move on 

she can cook and clean when she’s not painting her fingernails neon pink or green


give her all kinds of advice

tell her that that there are wolves out there

saskatchewan isn’t always nice

she asks me, “why you got pictures of people that ain’t your family and all them dusty old books?”

where she’s from there’s no time for reading

ever since she was young she was put to work

we play texas hold em’ heads up

listen to the radio as the wind sets the door to flapping 

when a tall stranger comes knocking she says it’s her brother

this no good looking son of a gun must be her lover 

he’s just a leach

a know nothin worthless thief

everything about him spells trouble from his pickup to his cowboy boots 

my house is starting to feel a whole lot smaller

from the roof all thatched on down to the carpet all patched

he’s awfully talkative and likes to brag

says he can play darts, chess, do carpentry and sand

wish my guest would just chew his food and mind his own business 


old man, old man, old man


how come you know so much?

how come you so tough?

and would you do this and that?

and have you thought about what to do with this big ol’ house?

it’s lonesome out here

don’t you have any friends?

old man, old man, old man


they’re all dead or in jail

they’re all buried in the past 

quiet is how i like it with my sheepdog and my barn cats 

have you found the lord asks the guy who’d sell out his dear ol’ mother

do you miss your wife?

do you ever wonder if she’s looking down on us?

life sends us all sorts of signs maybe we’re the messengers come to save you?

old man, she’d want you to be happy

and since you don’t my have any family why not let us keep you company?


this tough guy act isn't necessary 

time lapse, seasons change and pass 

unpack the groceries 

they fix up the place with supplies bought on my card 


the constant pitter patter gets to be pleasant but all things must pass

tell my little black cat that this old dog will take her to the station to see her off 

the pissy wind turns to thunder and a little drummer starts pounding in my ears

my chest tightens and i feel myself collapse in the backyard
 

two weeks later, waking up to the unfamiliar face of a stranger

she’s got the face of a cherub 

morta

angel of death


“you’ve been in a coma,” says the nurse

my pulse beeps on a screen

you were found by your daughter,

turning to the pretty woman she says, “you’ve got one lucky father”

“that’s my old man”

staring past her now not sure what planet i’m on

might’ve had a daughter once but she could be anywhere from minnesota to saigon

she left right after her mother passed on

morta—angel of death—memento mori—inamorata

death held me in its arms

in its silence

sotto voce