FOR MY PURPLE CADAVER’S HEART
My soul purple as a cadaver’s heart
at forty years old
it made me feel a little sick
as I went about doing my stupid nightly things,
using scrub and shine on sinks
wiping soot off toilet seats
dragging boats of trash to a compactor
I’d love to set on fire,
and damn it I should’ve asked Pa
for a few beers
and damn it I should’ve gone to Kwik Trip
for a few beers
before the midnight cutoff,
the whiskey bottle at my studio
was large but only enough leftover
to get me started.
My truck broke down and I had Pa’s
space mobile.
The electric steps extended
when I opened the door
and made me feel like Darth Vader
himself, but in an awkward way,
a janitorial way,
and the sounds the SUV made
all those dings and chimes and lights and screens
made me feel like a fool,
the camera hanging below the mirror
the GPS map glowing on my face
the seat reversing when I parked
to let me out on humming steps—
I needed a drink.
I felt like I was out of my skin
with my purple cadaver’s heart
and idly examined the contents of his car
where inside the middle console
glinting silver by the blue lights
I found a whiskey flask.
Pa, I’m not a fan of spaceships
but I will take this ride.
Mathias Nelson: My book, DIP MY PACIFIER IN WHISKEY, was published by NYQ Books. Read it.
