Iron

Iron is about the difficulties of being with one person, about not feeling slighted or making the other person feel

   slighted.

Iron is about the iron and phosphorous molecules that float between you

and Patrick in the meat department,

Patrick in a long white blood-streaked smock.

Iron is about a night with Walter, crossing a bridge

on your way to a club that later will crowd with flashing

   lights

and dancers, but right now Walter is warning you not to

   tell the girls

you’ve been in a war.

You remember sunlight, morning muster

those times you saw your double, same eyes, same rifle, in

   Chu Lai.

Iron is about sides of beef behind the steel doors Patrick

   exited through

after you two traded stories of your lives since high school,

neither one with a spouse or children, nor the wish to see

   each other ever again.

You remember a night with flashing lights and music

and Walter dancing alone to Steppenwolf.