Truth About Love

I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom
           the mailman who is always kind. 

He makes his way every day no matter
           the mood of the sky with our words

in a sack and Gandhi made the English
           give India back without 

taking a gun for a wife. My contribution
           to the common good is playing 

with the alphabet in a little room
           while the world goes foraging 

for food. I’m a better poet than man
           and it’s well known how little 

my verbs are worth. I am my only subject,
           being the god of my horizons.

What saves me is that just beyond my skin
           the world of yours is where 

I’d rather live. The AMA says you’ve added
           seven point six years to my life. 

In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth.
           This is why Adam Smith gave up 

romantic verse. In trying to say what can’t
           be said I’ll take the Dragnet 

approach. Just the facts. I’d be dead
           sooner without you, you’ll die faster 

for being a Mrs., raw deal can’t be more
         clearly defined. To make amends 

I offer ten percent more kisses each year.
           Or do I do more harm the closer 

we become? If yes, leaving would be love
           and a better man might. But my thrills 

are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words
           into piles and whispering good night.

Bob Hicok
from Insomnia Diary. University of Pittsburgh Press. 2004