I huddled in a glass-walled
booth outside the hospital,
dark clouds skulked out
of the south,
I smoked six foul smelling cigarettes,
waiting on the child
born in Bethlehem of Judaea
in the days of Herod the king,
April twenty-fourth,
and I was in between
a whisper and a scream
of artistic death,
Fearing the end of it all
as the old man jaywalked in the rain,
carrying a sign with a cross
carved with the words:
WESTERN MYTH
The end is near,
can ya spare
some change
for an old vet?
"I need some liquor," he said as
he grinned a gap-toothed grin,
flashing tattoos
as he held out his hands
A dagger through a rose
below King Neptune,
H o l d F a s t
inked across his knuckles.
"It'll be over for ya'
know it son, this ain't a storm
I seen storms I thought God
himself was ridin in them winds."
He limped away
with a handful of change
and my last cigarette,
Night came,
A child was born.
Comments aren't open on your latest post, so I'm posting here :o) Just wanted to say that I think "I have empty hands
ReplyDeleteand a mouthful of paradox"
is a FABULOUS stanza!
Thank you for the compliment.
ReplyDeleteThanks for following.
I corrected the comments problem.
Sometimes for an unknown reason "Do Not Allow Comments" is selected by default in the options.