Your Uncle

I knew him so well,
that chin dribbling brown juice
like some lizard, his hand
patting your fanny.

I coulda said something
then, his fat ass bumping along
in that Ford, each night
a visitor, so he said,
a visitor to play some poker
with your dad, but he’d spell
it, poke her, and laugh.

but you’d laugh too, like
some fool outta Alice in
Wonderland, like it was funny
your dad’s brother liked to poke women
and teenagers just turned eighteen.

but damn it, I got him
back, that night his tires went flat,
you drifting out the doorway
like a ghost, a modest sprite in
some white-silk nightie,
going to bed alone tonight
while big bad uncle
grunted under the truck,
trying to find the spare.