In front of the liquor store…
Rain darts in jagged shots across the glass
between weary swipes of squeaking, tired blades.
The defroster stifles….but I leave it;
let it fight the haze. Maybe, it can sweat out
this demon locked to my melancholy,
my known genetic predisposition;
this twinned self–tarred skin of me, entwined tight
within and steeped in remembrance of bliss
now forsaken. For what….a longer life
to be reminded of a craving want;
of my own sad winter of discontent?
This meninges, membranous bag for
every muscle and bone and nerve and cell,
every spark of thought, every common urge
of me is immune to time’s cheap cure.
Time is not a healer for everything.
My eyes in the rearview beseech themselves
and, stared down, blink a hard resolve….today,
to pass on the easy and drive away.
Belated Words 
Leave a reply to Leo Cancel reply