ROBERT DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
errol miller
Little darling,
he heard “The Texas Waltz”
one time too many, he left his wife
and credit cards, he went across the border
to Nacogdoches to rent a Mexican lady
the bank was written several times
and female voices call at twelve p.m.
we tell them yes and no and maybe
we tell them to call somewhere else
he left his Sunday trousers and his books
two kids and most of his past life
one Saturday night in a drunken stupor
using the lights of town for guidance
and a moll he met that evening for company
we wish him well, of course, for we
have screwed up too, out there
in that Fool’s Gold Paradise
where neon wombs sucker in the stupid
and the lonely crawl home alone.