Memorial Day

for S.H.

We gobbled the last of the shrimp from Costco

and I finished the bottle of wine, a civilian coda

to a Memorial Day that quite honestly felt like

just another manic Monday. That phrase causes the

redwing blackbirds in my brain to blast off for

The Bangles’ own lady liberty—Susanna Hoffs.

Yes, I was an American boy. No, I’ll never forget.

~

A man I love picks away at a poem like a scab.

He’s playing Jason Isbell in the background for

inspiration. I’ll check in on him later, see how

everything’s poem-ing along. He’s a good man.

If he’s idling, I might prescribe a shot of Hoffs.

Then again, I’ll never forget that Tobias Wolff

interview: “All I need is a window to not write.”

~

Wolff’s window. Hoffs’ legs. Dear God I’d hate

to cause another brother to stumble, which in

this case could mean not completing his poem.

He’s a good man, but like me he’s dog tired of

internet carnies barking beef tallow and trauma.

Then again, Hoffs might be just the jolt he needs,

a reveille to truly honor that hazy shade of ghosts

who died trying to free us of our silly millstones.