repair to me

it's quiet in here after the rush to leave, icut
strip, solder, assemble connectors to order,
fingers on the pulse of arthritis. test them twice
cuz maybe i missed one. isn't it a pity
comes unbidden, george's plaintive voice-
an accompaniment to the hiss
of flux as it washes away grime , binds
each individual strand to its brothers, creates
a new metal. i heard on the radio

news of bevy of rampages: dads
with guns, disgruntled exes
with guns, murder suicide pacts gone wild.
spring certainly is a cruel season, hilights
the trouble with being hopeful, how nothing
really changes no matter how many iterations
you go thru or how many times i have to crimp

this collar with the wrong tool leaving it intact
but twisted inside where no one
else has to see it like this morning
a cat's stiff markless body
on the side of the road or tomorrow
morning's desoldered memory of you.