Darkness in a Bottle of Lysol

Hell don't have no fury
for Vachel Lindsay,
whose travels meant a lot
or a little to the men of his day.

Vachel, my boy, you splashed the
front pages with the words of your
journeys, but it took more than this
to fill you up.

You missed Sara. You longed for her.
Missed her scent, the colors she wore,
always favoring blue. You missed her
kind words and her soft heart for yours.

You married too late, to a youngster,
and how she demanded the money, only you
were in more for words than money, and you never
really provided her the life she needed.

When little Nick came along it was too much.
Sweet Susie had been a burden, but Nick pushed too hard
and Liz never really understood you, especially not
the way Sara had.

And Ernst, what had she seen in him, anyway?
He was but a rich man in money, not in words and ideas
and experiences as you were, and you tried to tell her
this, but she wouldn't listen again and again and again.

You went on writing poems about her and bemoaning her
friendship and mutual admiration, but it was love that you
wanted, to get a hand on her again, to love her and hold
her in the pastures the way you once had.

The city didn't love you, and the men wanted their money,
and your wife was in love with the children in her life,
and it was words that you loved, words, words, words, but
it was darkness you finally chose.

Darkness in a glug, glug, glug bottle of Lysol while you
read through your papers and wondered why they'd never loved
you how you deserved or how they'd loved glug, glug, glug,
their other sons and then it was a final glug, glug, glug, for you.