Orobas

When Orobas walks into

a bar, don’t make that crack

about a long face:

understand the labors of his days &

order him a double Scotch on the rocks.

When your phone rings & it’s his name

on the caller ID, answer

immediately, for you know that he’s reaching 

from the bowels of hell’s

most heinous customer service center, 

headset perched on his equine skull.

He only cold calls those who need it most,

so tell him of your

estrangements & betrayals, last words

never spoken to parents on

their death beds, & when

he offers to mow your lawn, know that he
chokes back slugs even then
at the indignity of his
various tasks. Let that somber steed
water at the hose like in a dirty magazine.

When you washed the pages 
they just got dimpled & sticky
& Orobas waits to drag
a heavy load, the river where he bucked 
& threw you.  Not so hard 
to find good help, but harder to ask 
for it with the minnows 
swimming in and out your maw.