Margaret’s Speech

I’m a frogman. Naked by the water Under a lean of canvas she’d sewn With a thick paraffin thread, She gestured.When we pulled him From the river His left leg was meal. Crayfish in the hair. The river bottom left his shoulder Layered and crocheted— My sister’s pearl knitting needles Clicking in my head. I told The sheriff I wouldn’t do it again. I knew him once. His Chevy threw a rod. I made it with him On the hood of the old truck. It was out at the dump beyond Yuma. It felt like I had bread crumbs All over my mouth. Wacky with the sun, I sure did it with him enough That afternoon. I didn’t Know it was him who’d drowned. They said it was his cousin. He had a three-cornered scar At the small of his back. And a deposit Of calcium on the tailbone. We’re not much, you know? He was tangled in yellow tree roots, He spun in the currents, A fishhook and line running From his thumb. A whole new ball of wax, I thought. I wanted to be an astronaut. But failed the mathematics Twice in one summer. So I raise Nubian goats. My favorite has a purple manure That comes out like steaming packets Of tobacco mulch. He sprays The shack with his seed— It hasn’t needed paint in three years. I just took my shorts off When you two came down the hill. It’s that rubber suit I wear When I dive into the chute and cave. Sometimes I just feel Like old air in a patched tire. Then, I get my Seagram’s and come out here. You two look married. Not that I care. You wouldn’t believe what I was just thinking— Your husband’s the only living man Left in this country Who knows that I bleach my hair.