Listen to the poem below.
His palms leave sweat next to the three drinks on my writing table.
One, once ice water, no longer with any ice, two, the coffee once hot,
without creamer, 2 pink sweet and low packets and 2 heaping
teaspoons of Ovaltine, now cold.
Pickup the old windup desk clock, force the gears backward to the
lean hours of January 2nd.
This takes a lot of wrist, makes sure the turn-screw cross-threads,
gets the gears temporarily stuck.
I put my finger in the spiral muzzle of the revolver.
Just before it kisses you bluing.
Three, I hand you the Midori and ginger ale with the limes and
spherical ice that flex the glass outward in your receiving hand.
I love you little brother.
Michael Cooper is an inland empire poet, PoetrIE member, CSUSB MFA Graduate, and father to two great sons: Markus & Jonathan. His new book, coauthored with good friend Cindy Rinne, entitled Speaking Through Sediment, is now available from ELJ Publications. Visit his blog at https://poetcooper11.wordpress.com/