I am in a constant state of revision of you
I stop by to wrap it up
a one liner from a David Mamet play
or maybe just a screaming bar tone like Roseanne
You still call me dearie and honey like
you are the elder
Your David Soul toupe swirling about your head
that you say it is is not real or dyed
You're waiting for the 2 bit mama from other side of town
with tawny brown hair and a crooked nose
She's from a small town in Wisconsin where boozing it up
was the extreme passtime.
She'll give it to you anyway you like you told me once.
You smoke your cigarette in despair
Has becoming rich made you anymore content?
You still have to worry about what she might or might not do.
Is retirement really you?
your competitive game changing ideas
at the Black Jack table
You doubling down with forty to two hundred dollars
Your sense of ownership at the table like no one could make one move you would disapprove of.
I believe you sobered up in those last months
As your mom lay dying
And you still have some goodness within you
but why can't you recognize a true woman?