is not a word I like
for Daddy.
As far back
as I remember
brilliant orator
top salesman at Chrysler
top four car company
of the world.
He traded
glib kisses 
off the Blarney Stone
for martinis after work.
After dinner
his digestion of the Detroit News
pre-empted his moments with me.
Daddy had no time
to lose his mind:
Business,
Sports,
Editorials,
Comics,
Classifieds.
He was careful
to memorize 
the words
before the ink should fade.
 

Tuesday Night Club

For a year 
we gave Tuesday nights
to each other, 
for poetry, for shedding
blood upon looseleaf, 
journalizing
until the veins echoed 
hollow emptiness
and still there would be 
more.

And these Tuesdays 
would have gone on
but her bitter unhappiness 
mingled 
with the blood, turning the pages
blank. 
She slinked 
down 
the rabbit hole, 
her name Amy, not
Alice, searching for a way around
the truth in a new place
where nobody knew her
and Tuesdays had no meaning.