like death and urine,
like the stove had been on for since the first of the month,
There were lightning bugs in the back yard,
they were circling something,
like buzzards over a carcass,
In the parlor, there was water dripping from the ceiling,
and a pool of it on the pink carpet below,
the bath had overrun,
and when I climbed the stairs, I saw fingernails lodged in the wallpaper to the right,
and when I got to the top,
I saw you,
there,
next to the tub,
with your face on the tile floor,
because you liked the cold,
you always liked the cold,
and down the hall,
there was Bing Crosby on the gramophone,
but you never liked Bing Crosby,
and neither did I
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