the weekend

the weekend---for ‘shooter’

drove back to the rez
with just enough gas
to get there and back
my lover lent me money
so my checks would stop bouncing
and we painted in rose and cream
the freshly mudded sheetrock
of the bedroom my daughter
accidentally burnt down
the only radio station being 80’s rock
i haven’t heard those songs
since college
all the while ‘his’ name
kept popping into my head
freshly suicided the day before
and i wonder why
and how life gets so bad
that a seemingly passionate about life
person loads the shotgun
and grand funk railroad plays
and cream from disraeli gears
led zeppelin you know the ilk
the sun pours through the windows
i add a little rum to the coke
clean the brushes and trays
drive back to the city
his name keeps popping in
the gas gauge is almost empty
and his name keeps popping in.