The windows weep for wilder air

to sweep the ghost imprisoned where 

I sleep these widow weedy days;

your smell still bathes my pillow case -

love’s detritus and battle stains

adorn the sheets I will not change.

I rub the pane and through the swish

see women spitting gossip lips:

the sideways  nod and lifted trunk,

those folding arms that say harrumph!

The Valiums accumulate;

I maunder by until it’s eight

when I can open up the plonk -

sure, I can stop just when I want,

but let it still the whispered  hiss

imperilling this edifice

I built with you, my handsome toad,

who sought solace within the stove.

Come, let us draw the blind to black

and make me liquid of your gas.