On the Rocks (Divorce)

Edible saints in pink wrappers,

Energy drinks, black cigarettes,

And Beefeater—spirit rappers

Who come and knock my silhouette

In the Upper Room on the Up-

Per East Side; a man, so torn—torn!

Alone I dine, holding a cup

Filled with dry gin and a stillborn.

My marriage is dead.

By the Fiftieth Day I know

I won’t have to pray to Simon

Or to Jude, baby, no dumb show;

And I will outgrow my daimon.

I have Cartaphilus legs, no-

Where to go but down, so I kneel

And I look around; quid pro quo,

I give myself and you don’t feel.