Anne McWilliams ----- Two poems

REFINISHING A BOAT IN MORGAN'S GARAGE

(rebuilding a vehicle, repairing anything)

They huddle together,

dozens of squashed cans spilling

from bad bank shots around a recycle bin

full of smashed Budweiser boxes.

Urine musk rises from the gravel

between the house and RV

near the dumpster full of rotted deck wood

(or bad parts).

Their boxer sniffs the ground

and adds his scent.

The women hold cigarettes

that burn down between their fingers

while the men pass a pipe

and shatter the air with farts.

This is where,

every spare moment,

among the tools and cast off chairs,

they hold communion.

POKER FACE

she bends a straw to your lips,

props your pillows

brings warm blankets,

and after a short while she brings

another dose of pills

and takes an empty glass away.

she's neat and orderly

tired and overworked

and has seen thousands of naked men.

don't ask her out, ever.

somebody's mother or daughter

she doesn't wait for gratitude

she keeps smiling and scrubs you clean

wipes your wounds and backside

and asks if everything is ok.

she doesn't inflict bodily harm

genetics will out, and no amount of care

can make up for poor choices.

dead or dying, in flames,

frozen, drowning, train wrecks

she works in common cause to clean

care and teach with calm

eyes, serene face, steady hands.

she gives no salt for your wounds

released, rebalanced, prescribed

graves dug, again, and again

she knows it never changes.

she learns the smell of dying souls.

she knows the body contains so much blood.

she wants you to believe in the power of healing

or whatever lies you believe

to show in her face, she knows exactly

what quality of your life

is up to you.