Daniel E Haislet

after midnight in our
bed i write this poem be-
ginning with two lines on drink-
ing three waters for each coffee
you grumbled the key-
strokes woke you suddenly
realizing it isn’t a poem
but a treatise on faux
pas and atonement
on three graces owed
to The Hand
for each inhibition
on unburdening of self
on indulgence of self
on the milk-plus fridays
and soup kitchen sundays
on the dawning
and on the chill that accom-
panies a dawning
that same chill goes with dying
with unbeing goes with being
father this treatise is
two letters to my sons
thinking my sons need more something
time or work or scripture or
something that is not granite
fingers carving granite fingers
increasing the supply of gra-
nite knuckles folding back
for a quick smoke
in some gray incre-
dible breakroom
and a hardened throat
and tobacco breath
and yesterday’s coffee
still in the perco-
lator thinking about david lynch
thinking what it took to learn
that too much talk
of tomorrow is sunday’s
chemical piss-sunrise
on an allnighter
running dead east
into monday morning and
my boys need something more
like hope I real-
ize this is a hope-poem
raising three men for
each i’ve flattened
three truths per lie
three sacrifices per theft
love you
love you
love you
for each fuck
i guess i’m affected
that way when some-
body says percolator