The Bush Pilot

Drink back to your first rodeo--
then your lasso;
now your noose.
Flaccid attempts
Seeking refuge in daytime sleep
when the pages aren't enough.
The glorious maelstrom
swirled into a morgue
with no one left
to claim the corpse.

Four champagne flutes, rarely used
collect dust on a shelf
since they're too tall for the cupboard.
You should have let her breathe
like the fine wine that she is.

Call it even.
Call it clashing.
Call it in the air.

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