NEW POEM - WIFFLE

WIFFLE


Sid
arrived home,
three
shirt buttons
already
free.
Sweat
lit up
his chin
and
drowsy
eyelids.

Sid
stumbled
over
William, the cat,
cursed,
slammed
the screen door.
“Watch it,
hey!”
I hollered.

Sid
asked for
a
wiffle.
“Huh?”
I asked.
“You know,”
he said.
“A buzz cut.
Shit’s drivin’
me crazy.
cut it
all off.”
I said,
“Meet me
in the front yard.”

Sid
groused,
real, real
pissy.
Neatening
his
neck line,
I watched
brown
globes of fuzz
float down
to the grass.

Sid
slugged
on a
brew
and relived
his
grocery
mart
tales.
“Lady said she wanted
the brown mustard,
but the brown mustard
that’s got seeds in it.
Lady left her carriage.
Total
bitch
fit.”

Sid
is
a barrel
packed with
sighs.
I told him,
“At least
Friday
is only
four days
away.”