In my dream you say “love you”

before bed
you cook me pasta
making excuses and pardons –
I’m sorry this is all I have

you cut veggies and grate sharp cheese
fill my bowl saying
this is what I used to make for myself
when I was young and broke

it is a fine meal
it is a tender mercy of a meal
to cook for me
never letting me stand from my chair
no matter how many times I asked
Is there something I can do?
My mother raised me
better than to let someone love me
without interrupting

without offering to do it for them
it is too much
you are working too hard
place some
of that burden
on my back
and if you must leave it all
I will carry it
but you don’t let me help
you set down two bowls and sit with me
and let me talk about my writing
and listen

I wake up believing
that you mean it

Rations are scarce

Rations are scarce
this side the island.
This mission is not
one rich in resource -
yet I’ve made provision

for you both
respectively:
a fruit by the foot,
and a mid-quality wheat beer.

Water you will have to vend
at the airport
sanity
do not seek
and patience has run so thin
I beg you not to hope for its balm
for it will not come

do not tell me what time the plane lands
do not bother me with details of delay
I will stand in the pickup lane

as long as it takes
on the side of the grimy asphalt
leaned against my rental car
smoking an imaginary cigarette
(while I would kill a man for a real pack)

wearing an imaginary cabbie hat
waiting in the wet hot of swamp spring
staring at those double doors
while the beer grows warm,
sweats in my pocket, matching beads on my forehead

I have been cold
for a long time

I had forgotten
the stifling of all our summers

Here we are, back in the heat
We will lament it together later

For now, I will see you walk from the doors,
they will spit you into the night

with your luggage and your girlfriend and your coat over your arm
you idiot
you brought a coat
I will throw my hat and my cigarette
I will run like I mean to throw you to the ground
I will bowl you down in the overwhelm - you will hate it
I will grin, laugh,
be too much for you as I always am

you will frown at my furor
I will not care
my hat will blow away in the wind
my cigarette will roll, still red-tipped, into the gutter
You will call me names and I will cuss at you
and we will fight over who takes the luggage
I cannot say who will win
I will pull you, arm over shoulder
as though I am your equal
back to the car
forget I am craving a cigarette
give you my ration of joy
it is the last one here, my brother
I cannot save it anymore.