Poem-a-Day

I like seeing him sweat 
Now. I like how he leans 
On a speaker winded while 
Ralph, Johnny, Ronnie, 
Rickey, and Mike do 
The dances that made them
Their money. I like how 
Round Bobby Brown is.  
I dream rubbing his belly 
The way a bad man rubs 
A lamp desperate for 
A genie. Everyone who 
Rubs the belly of Bobby 
Brown ends up pregnant.  
Five of his seven kids live.  
I think he must be sadder 
Than I’ll ever be. You can’t 
Replace a child. But what 
Do I know? I’m no father, 
No husband. When you 
Look at me, you can’t tell
The body of someone
I loved rots like any other 
Under the Fairview 
Cemetery in Westfield, 
New Jersey. I’ve joined
The mass. We run up 
The arena steps to seats 
We won’t use. Bobby 
Sounds better than before.  
It’s as if he inherited 
A gift someone had 
To die for him to use.