All men who had souls sat-
blessing their wine or beer
with the sweat of the backs of their wives'
and the skin of their babies imbedded in the deep crevices
of their weathered hands
that were cupped in an eternal prayer
for more money
a step up on the ladder
a tractor.
I remember your Hawaiian shirt well-
how you said it makes you look queer.
I remember thinking your thoughts
when we talked about sex or books.
I liked how you giggled and did not laugh like a man
I hate to think you will end up cupping a beer
talking about sports scores
and screaming at your wifey.