poem of the day 09.24.09

portrait of a man

here’s the portrait
of the man trying to be
all things
to all people
the dutiful son who calls
every sunday
although his life is falling apart
at the hands of the bottle
and the measure of time
the husband
who notices a new hair color
or clothing
who remembers to make love
hard and soft
often enough
who tries not to drink
in front of the in-laws
but keeps a bottle of scotch
in his overnight bag.

here’s the portrait
of the man trying to be
all things
to all people
the benevolent older brother
there for moral support
there to bleed the years when you can’t
but who can never seem to visit
at the new house, in the new town,
or comment on the new car
the uncle who understands the pains
of youth
the brother-in-law, mute,
and painted into the corner
of a saturday night
window dressing at the table
of every new kitchen being built
or waxed.

here’s the portrait
of the man trying to be
all things
to all people
the friend who’ll amuse you
and say immortal things
the friend who forgets your constant benevolence
never allowed to forget the bounty that you’ve
bestowed upon him
the friend to get drunk with in the old bar
telling the old stories over and over again
because there’s never been enough to say

here’s the portrait
here’s the man trying to be
all things
to all people
the man who has room enough for the world
and no room for anybody
a man who tries to love but cannot find the way
who watches spider webs collect
in the dirty shower
and wants to scream
a man for whom his own madness and solace
have ceased to calm him.

here’s the portrait
of the man trying to be
all things
to all people
his flesh picked off the bone at birth
his fingers, dirty, yellow nubs
his hair nothing but dirt and grease and follicles
a face streaked with blood and years
eyes that are barren
a gut full of guilt
his soul torn and scattered
a man so sick
a portrait of the man
so sick
so very sick of it all.