I am the exhaust pipe of my mother’s car.

On the tennis court I think of her,

Drowning at the bottom of the river in her coffee cup

And her vagina gave forth a plume of smoke.

When money crumbles in my hands

I blow smoke at the approaching horses

Or I cook dinner

And join my mother, pouring a new driveway.

I dress you and I bill you and you like it

In your mobile home underneath the sea. Blue

Keys lock my mouth in flames

And I roll my R’s in a clever speech

That makes your dog happy and growl

At ghosts and at children and at my faded blue jeans.