The Oldest Story
My girl still needs to memorize the prologue
of Gilgamesh by Friday & so sticks it
above the bathroom sink & to the window
inside the old Subaru, repeating weary worn
out with labor though we’re not riding
some Mesopotamian mud road, but I-35
thronged in fog. Eventually the gods would
wonder if G couldn’t really use a friend &
I know a man & when Enkidu finally shows up
their headbutt crumbles soft Uruk’s great walls
but the brawl’s not what we’ve come to expect
from standing your ground …
