Troubled thinker

We talk like we're new doctors,
I tell you I'm bad at this,
at healing people,
or even loving them.


You say I've been attracting weary folk.
I tell you, "You're right,
but it isn't contagious."
You laugh, let out relief
because you won't
have to give up your
happiness yet.


You tell me it will
take four years to
build me up a house
(a big enough house)
but I don't have four
years left with these
same people,
no I don't have these
four years left in me.


But you're a troubled thinker
and your face is all wrinkled,
so to smooth out these wrinkles,
I say, "I know a girl,
she's been divorced
four times."
You murmur about God,
and I say, " I don't think
he'll mind."


You drop me off at my father's house.
Me and him casually let smoke
drift out our noses.
He tells me, you once
sewed him a scarf
and even though I now know,
you must have been trying
real hard, to thread a needle
and clip out strips of fabric,
I now know you must have
loved him a lot,
He still makes me laugh
at his story.


We empty our pipes,
like old friends and I tell him,
I don't have four years left
in me.
"Yeah, you and me aren't
any good at showing our
love , or sticking our roots
in any sorts of ground."
He points North, says,
"It's real cold up there"
and I tell him that's good
I might be there a while.


He remembers his anger now
and he tells me to sit down.


So I walk out his driveway head down,
Gin, and another few things I know
quietly tucked away
on the inside of my old father's coat.