December 24 and George McBride Is Dead

You a gentleman and I up from the grime—

now wind has shut your dark, dark eyes

and I am left to hate this Christmas eve.

Christ, they’re playing carols. Some crap

never stops. You’re dead and I’m without

one goddam Wagner record in the house

to play you up to what for some must be

behind the sky with solid orchestration.

Rest in your defeat, you stupid jerk,

so fat your heart gave out, so sweet

you couldn’t help but hear the punks.

“One gulp. The whole quart, Mac.” That town

you died in—so unlikely—vineyards,

sunny valleys, stark white missions

and the pale priest summoning

brown sinners from the olive grove.

I’ll not know your grave, though I believe

our minds have music that can lead us

through the tangle to the lost stone of a friend.

I get along, write my poems. Essentially

a phony, I try my feelings now

and know I fail. George, it’s Christmas eve

and bells are caroling. I’m in the kitchen,

fat and writing, drinking beer and shaking.