it doesn’t just happen
in some deserted Midwest
town with landscapes
of saturated white powder
left shimmering & sparkling
inhaling and stumbling as
blistered, gangrenous feet
hang over the side
of some fractured window sill
mistakenly left open
as a father screams at his son
sending him to the galleys
relegating him to personality conflicts

ice cold sons of bitches
eating the hearts and minds of every
man woman and child

with a burst of lighting
the blizzard skyrockets into the room
the door slams shut
and his face stings
not because of the cold
but because the fist was closed
focusing on the frosty breeze
beating the can
of beer left over
from last nights
frigid binge
session

and all he can do
is drain his mind of happiness

and all it must take
is one hit
or one drink
to forget all that is in the past
all his mistakes
all the fruitless embraces
all the people injured
by the cycles
perpetuated
still
calm

frozen with his eyes left open
the sleepy owl’s beak
barely cracks
saves the heat
for tomorrow

and hides the bruises
with smiles
laughs
and ridicule

10/19/2005

Posted on 10/20/2005
Copyright © 2022 Curt Allday