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we had the poor boy blues
beside the snake pit in trailers
full of smoke
full of photos of that man
you called your father
who passed away one summer evening
and now I’m thinking about it
we didn’t know what to say
your mother
drunk on cheap beer
vodka
and smoking
holding her back
telling stories of old lovers
I couldn’t tell if you
were embarrassed or if grief
had swallowed your tongue

we had the poor boy blues
in that trailer
doing push ups
drinking rum
me chewing cough drops
because there weren’t no food
and you vomiting
gripping your glasses
holding the toilet bowl

Mike
we had the poor boy blues
and I still think how you’re doing
hope you don’t mind this
hope it ain’t too long
hope you’re doing okay

we had the poor boy blues
playing guitar
and banjo by the lake
me with shame and you
well
I don’t want to put
words in your mouth
maybe it was shame too

I still play guitar
and write songs
like we did in Lynn’s basement
and think of you in your
blue shirt