Truth About Love

I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom
           the mailman who is always kind.

He makes his way every day no matter
           the mood of the sky with our words

in a sack and Gandhi made the English
           give India back without

taking a gun for a wife. My contribution
           to the common good is playing

with the alphabet in a little room
           while the world goes foraging

for food. I'm a better poet than man
           and it's well known how little

my verbs are worth. I am my only subject,
           being the god of my horizons.

What saves me is that just beyond my skin
           the world of yours is where

I'd rather live. The AMA says you've added
           seven point six years to my life.

In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth.
           This is why Adam Smith gave up

romantic verse. In trying to say what can't
           be said I'll take the Dragnet

approach. Just the facts. I'd be dead
           sooner without you, you'll die faster

for being a Mrs., raw deal can't be more
           clearly defined. To make amends

I offer ten percent more kisses each year.
           Or do I do more harm the closer

we become? If yes, leaving would be love
           and a better man might. But my thrills

are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words
           into piles and whispering good night.

Copyright © 2004 Bob Hicok All rights reserved
from Insomnia Diary
University of Pittsburgh Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission