(A Sonnet for My Ex-wife, Hadley)
The City burns slow pink electric—
liquor store signs, seething bug eyes, I
watch scamper white ghosts and paramedics
from my window to the street outside.
She’s asleep. The white of her shoulder blurs
with the radiator steam as it rises.
She looks barely alive, against the flicker
of the pale sodium yellow lamplight
cast up from Sixth and Mission. It’s months
before I’ll try to swing from a ceiling,
days before the arrest warrants come,
hours ahead of the sickness daylight brings.
Tonight’s just another dirty hotel room,
Far away from home, far away from you.