how did you do it?
all those nights you never knew
when he would be home
if he would be home
or even worse
knowing who he was with
and not being able to find them
the days at the track
and the nights of Chianti
then in his later years
taking care of him
cleaning his vomit
wiping his piss and shit
this great beast of a man
growing hollow and cold
because there you sit now
in the pew near his casket
surrounded by drunks and degenerates
that you both called friends
you don't cry
you don't laugh
you just sit
in a simple black dress
with gartered stockings
heels too high for church
and I wonder
at the end
did he beg you for death?
did he drink and curse
or lay just one more bet
on number 8 to win?
did he want to fuck you
in that dress
one last time?
(c) Elvira Berezowsky
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