Tap


Under the belly of this plane,
mountains:

The piano keys I can’t quite reach
art I can’t quite let rain

(I would like to be drenched)
Cold in the bathwater

Me; a screaming baby
the tap left running

My infant call
hitting all the right notes

Save me a tune
save me from frostbite:

The familiar icy itch
of missed potential.

Do as you did in another song:
slam my talent into a door

Tell it to grow up, get drunk,
dance until the last rays of light

Then, after the funeral,
Only then

Is it allowed to sit shoeless on the porch
whisky in hand and

Exhale