Listen to the cheers,

a bunch of skinny boys

who’ve never been in a fight,

giddy when the gloves come off,

flaccid handshakes clutching warm beers,

whispering bullshit through their teeth.

Is this how you’ll look at me,

the last time I ever see you?

Your maternal love burnt-out,

glassy-eyed and dumb,

My great love—

with whom there will be nothing more.

-

The roads are icy,

and I’ll hope you home.