I got a cigar-serenade voice that is perfect
for telling the babies good night because
they fall right to sleep after. One would think
it’s coming from a man with a Glasgow smile.
You’ve got a voice that’s perfect for the porch.
I mean rocking in chairs singing old country songs.
The trees that had been blocking our view fell
during the last hurricane, cleared the skyline
and Mars is the red glow and Venus is orange.
I swore to you Orion let loose his arrow.
It was a comet, but you know me, I tell stories.
Like when I said we have 45 degrees of
compliments and 90 reasons why we shouldn’t be.
But you know I see how we can stand in different
rooms and find each other in the mirror.
We can’t look each other in the eye without
laughing or making funny faces. This world is built
for two. We are fond of each other like the poles
in a lean-to. Two triangles make a square.
Cut a right angle in half and those parts compliment.
I don’t know what the hell we are but when you go
it’s like forever I can only see a quarter of my
favorite painting. I need you, you spinning record.
It’s you I want to hear all year and especially
at Christmas time.
Michael Hammerle holds an MFA from the University of Arkansas, Monticello, and a BA in English from the University of Florida. He is the founder of Middle House Review. His work has been published in The Best Small Fictions, Split Lip Magazine, New World Writing, Louisiana Literature, Hobart After Dark, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. His writing has been a finalist for awards from American Short Fiction, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and Prime Number Magazine. He lives and writes in Gainesville, Florida. www.middlehousereviews.com/michael-hammerle