My Dead

My husband lost his shirt at cards; insolvent, he then drowned

in slick Cancun on our honeymoon; years now, it still astounds             

how fast, how fast, a living hell can turn a life around. 

My godchild told me pointedly if she were to attempt

to die that she'd succeed at once; her word she promptly kept,

and took a hundred opiates and drifted to her death.                              
 

My punk rock pimp, a crush of mine, loved theater and art.

He sodomized and strangled a young man who broke his heart.

He packed a bag of bondage toys and left for foreign parts.                  

Before her death, my mother called and calmly sat me down;

if she could do it all again, she'd have no children, none.

She lived her life in anger and, despite us, all alone.       

My father drank and slept around; he was a well-liked guy.                  .

He said I love you once to me the night before he died

Was that a feeling come too late, or panic in his eyes?