The first time
I saw your name
with mine
I remembered
the very day
you announced
that you would like
to take my last name.
I thought about all
the late-neon nights,
fist-fights
and full moons,
the bottles of booze,
broken hearts
and busted ribs,
all the heartbreak
and hard luck,
the poetic viciousness
and the wondrously foul language
that this name comes with.
So I stepped into the first bar
I found,
downed a shot of bourbon,
called the bartender a slut,
punched the old man next to me
and walked out smiling
in honor of your courage.
