a poem written for many moynihans

ignoring me

you turn into blind alleys

follow them around

to your boyhouse

meet your mother

green in her garden

kiss what she holds out to you

her widowed arm and

this is betterness

ignoring me

you make a brother for you

she drops him in the pattern

you made when you were sonning

you name her wife to keep her

and this is betterness

ignoring me

your days slide into seasons

you build a hole to fall in

and send your brother running

following blind alleys

turning white as winter

and this is

betterness