You rattle off your stories,

Years ago drinking forties

And taking convertibles

Through the only car wash in town.

Light up another one

And breathe out a smokey tune,

Embracing the web of the old rowboat

You and your best twelve friends smote,

Caused to stop its purpose, its float,

And sink out front your father’s home.

The water rose up to your nostrils,

And breath came slow and bubbly.

Safe and sound and now you ground

To a stop in the middle of a corn field

In that same, soaked Firebird

After losing the cops out on RR 13

And laughing it off every year since.

I’d like to write all of them down

In your own, God-given voice,

But ink doesn’t quite match

The years of laughter, smoke, and booze etched

Into your throat.