What If He's Not Crazy

What if he's not crazy.
What if he believes his arm is actually his woman
and he doesn't want to take his coat off because
then she will get cold.

What if that's why he won't take it off,
The young cop's so mad and they're going to take him away
but he's not upset, because at least he'll have his arm.

If hunger causes sorrow and thirst will make you mad
then I do not want to eat you.
I will stake out the bar and take you in little shot glasses
and swallow one by one until my piece of mind comes back.
Better this, than happiness.

What if we're not lonely.
What if I believe you're like a candle going out
when you're really a black cat walking toward me;
your little back raised high, stretching
ready for sleep.

If You're Not Here

If you're not here I hope to God you're in New Orleans;
the heat so high you could fry an egg.
Sunsick. Get so dizzy you walk into someone else's house
and kiss their wife,
start living their life,
until things cool down a bit.

You forgot to pay an oil bill and some
woman asked about your mother.
She's been long gone, I said.
How longs long gone? No one can say.

Living alone means using one tea bag for
three cups, washing one towel at a time.
I've got room for my sewing machine now
and can knit something fierce, all night, some nights.

Yes, if you're not coming back I hope you're in the dark
French bars sipping something bitter. Alone
like you like it. Your wide tongue grabs a cube
just to hold something while
it melts until it's gone.