Listen to Maggie
read by Mark Cox

What an apt, absolutely splendid name,
they’ll say, when you answer from behind
her bald, sun-block slathered head—
the name itself beside the point. 

It will be perfect, no matter what,
just as your baby will be darling, no matter what,
and the wife will be lovely, no matter what, and you, 
no matter what, will be one lucky, lucky man.

But when your daughter ODs at 22, 
brings it all down, cranks the volume
on Simple Plan and just blows
the whole flimsy house down around you,

and it’s a shame, no matter what,
and your soused wife’s taken to spiking Tab,    
and your family name’s been chiseled
out of your heart into a granite slab,

what good are the niceties now, 
the affirmational lies,
the corners smoothed round
for social grace’s sake? 

Finally, you understand that a wave
unrolls onto the beach
only once in this life, 
no matter how much

the next wave might resemble it,
once is what you get,
and there was, no matter what,
just one name that could suffice.

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