tomorrow comes soon

he's been drinking.
I can tell.
the way he keeps telling me
that he loves me.
that he thinks the world of me.
his favorite line
to say
when calling and drinking.
I can almost see tears of friendship
in his eyes
as he goes on
in some southern way,
the drawl coming out, the country
voice
of home cooking and fields,
horses,
livestock that he knew
as a child.
his rusted cars on blocks
in a driveway.
I love you, he says. you're
good to me.
i'd do anything for you,
my brother.
you let him roll on, listening
to the gurgle of beer
going down,
the sound of another cap
being popped open and tossed.
you listen,
listen to him talk about women,
how much he
needs one good woman
to make his life right,
to get him back on the right path.
you listen
and listen, hardly saying
a word until he wears himself
out,
then says, he has to go.
then one more time.
I love you.
get some rest, I tell him.
tomorrow comes soon.