attrition by DB Cox

last night i dreamed
you walked
out of the faceless
city hum
crazy bluebird tattoo
across your neck—Tu Do street, 1968
changed
but somehow still the same
you looked happy
to be alive again
as if an angel
had rolled back the stone
& pulled you out clean—
your face triggered
something i couldn’t locate
like an old address book
with a missing page
a vital name
lost forever—
you’ve been dead
more than forty years
& i’m still here
flat on my back
in a dirty little bed
in a dirty little room
addicted to this weakness
relaxed by the fact
of never having
to be strong again
knowing
that all the dope
in the world
will never make me well
trying—one more time
to stamp some meaning
on that old war game
we used to play—body count
you used to laugh & say:
“the only difference
between the winners & losers
is who gets the grease”
but for you & me
that turned out to be
no difference at all

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