February sixth, two thousand and six

eleven forty five in the morning

on the fourth floor

of a medical clinic in Des Moines, IA

the nurse put salve on the end of a plastic wand

held it against your mother's stomach

woosha woosha woosha woosha woosha woosha woosha woosha woosha

one hundred and sixty beats per minute you spoke through the tiny receiver

 

I've forty five marks in the small notebook I carry in my back pocket

each one represents a minor victory for me,

a day without alcohol

 

My goal is to fill it up,

have no need for it when you're here