Chicago The Great, and home again

My heart is as empty as
the cat dish the day after our pet died
so, not empty at all, and festering
with the fullness. Quietly reminding
like the wrinkled impressions on my skin
from a coarse couch cushion
or bruise after bruise - each one from some
fleeting clumsiness, some
drunken sparkle that fizzes and goes flat in the fridge

.........................

 when i grow up
when i get home   
           all beat down
a little star of Bethlehem
   under 8 andahalfs
shoes, sticky
tongue sticking out
a little too far
                 for taste
a flickering grace note
for praise

and the cup full again
so it doth empty the other
just a sting of lemon
free limes for the children
chilled Jack for that
joe so-and-so
sitting in the back row
self isolated but helpful
but I'm not helpless, yet
                      not social


and i can let go,
so give me southern comfortable
a kiss on the cheek
is not so sexual
to embrace

give me time,
your maleable tomorrow