DB Cox- A Poem

the moon howls
       -- for Raymond Carver

just out of range
of a street lamp
under tree branches
that shadow-dance
the empty avenue-
drawn here
every night to stare
at the same small house
on the corner
her new friend’s
beat-up blue chevy
planted like a conquering
flag in the driveway
every sleazy detail
behind those cheap
curtains burned
by time
into his brain
every whiskey-driven scar
fixed in faded walls
every shattered glass
& broken promise
every meaningless minute
spent apologizing
begging mercy
for every wrong thing

feeling strangely numb
he slides a hand
inside his jacket pocket
where it grazes
the cool metal
of a waiting .38
he steps from the curb
a windblown bird
into that crazy
time of night
when lost dogs
are silent
& the moon howls