It was hot in the desert
a heat as sharp as the steel
of my financial defeat.
In the deep end of the bar
with sweats of alcohol
sticking my back to the seat.
I was done, I knew well
the way back home through
the familiar told you so.
I met him right then,
shunting his electric gaze
not thinking, that low.
“Are you ready to submit,
to accept? on your knees,
the way to salvation?”
Why was I shaking then?
What was his visible force
taking me back from my death?
“Do you want to be doomed?
or with a click of faith,
the same as the greatest greats?”
Here I am today, not wiser,
in this vast colonial room,
reflecting back on the fork.
The weight of the future
is crushing my aging back
as I cry in the hallways at night.
The solace of the drink is gone,
and my friends are hissing
in the dark.
