I am caught between a primal scream and a love poem.
I have written about my passion for a subatomic particle.
My love for wine is well documented.
But if you ask me to explain why I love you,
well, we are both in for disappointment.
So skip the question, skip past the judgment
rush straight into the arms of the King of Fat Tuesday.
The native women who claimed the most iron nails
and therefore the best marriages
were unconcerned about particle physics,
for them such stuff was child’s play.
They would have sunk the fleet for its nails.
We may never have heard of Pearle Harbor.
Oh but then we are tempted to disregard aftermath.
You and I may hold no regard for each other,
but the aftermath must be respected.
So if you prefer butterfly wings and chaos
to iron nails and aftermath is no matter to me.
I sleep on my own collection of nails,
and that is all you need to know about why I drink.