A cross on the side of the highway.
A green bottle broken on the road.
A woman buying groceries
looking strung-out and uneasy
like she’s carrying more than her share
of a hurtful, heavy load.
Where’s her husband?
Does she love him?
Is she pretty under poverty’s disguise?
Does she know how she looks
in the words, yeah, in the books -
in the burning gaze of Raymond Carver’s eyes.
A cop at the bar orders whiskey.
He drinks it and it burns away the fear.
At the jukebox there’s a couple
dancing close and seeing double,
holding onto each other
full of something so unclear.
He whispers something.
She says she loves him.
They share a lot of love and a lot of lies.
Do they know how they look
in the words, yeah, in the books -
in the burning gaze of Raymond Carver’s eyes?
In the church the mourners shuffle slowly
down the aisle to gaze upon the dead.
She’s young, too young it seems
to come to the end of dreams
but someone had other ideas
floating in his head.
Where is he now?
Does he know how
he gets when he’s too angry or too high?
Does he know how he looks
in the words, yeah, in the books -
in the burning gaze of Raymond Carver’s eyes?