15 OF 30

I have said your name till the meaning fell off
and came back, like god, like copperheads on the ridge
like home, you sleep on a bottle of pain,
your spine a beanstalk that the baby climbs
and you are home and warmth and light
sleepless beside you is rest

the boy in the black plastic nest
ran off, he thinks he has to kick his house to pieces
to get out the door, he thinks every bridge is on fire
all the rehearsed grandeur of his lines fell flat
gone as good intentions, as the reasonable face
he wore into this house

there are houses along the road,
trailers squatting on dirt and plastic grass,
tenements in every city piled up sad and crazy
and arguing in Russian so many places
for a boy to set down his suitcase
and decide to be a man

and i know those roads at night,
the weight of that bag full of nothing
the way a father is a punching bag clown
a mother a witch on the moon,
you have to dance with those ghosts
how the burned down houses slink along the road behind you, kicked dogs

I hope he finds a sunny spot to sit down,
i hope he falls asleep next to someone beautiful
finds the small towns, the church steeples, the ocean at night
spits out that black highway snake, the words
that poison a boy into a man