portrait

he coughed
rubbed his hands together
in that rough dry way
brown old skin
receding behind black fingernails
yesterday's old dirt
sharing the space with the day before it
first cigarette is lit and
his watery blue eyes tinged with red
reflect the light from the back yard
"you can see all the way to dry valley" he thought
and you could
at least he wouldn't lie about that
"time to light the kerosene"
but as he shuffles his horned feet
across the kitchen floor
he remembers his words from last night
his relentless fist on the table
insisting, insisting, insisting
how so-in-so is an asshole
and how you must have had it coming
"i should keep some things to myself" he thought
but already the regret was fading
fading just like the milky way does at 5am
the way the light of the fire does on a cold november morning
"i'll light the wood stove instead" he decides
and as he walks out the front door
nudging the old mutts where they lay
the breath rises up from his mouth
a cloud of rank; of unused apologies
"funny how this disappears" he thought
"just like everyone else"