The choice, a desperate grasp of great consequence,
a hand, cramped with fisted frustration, fingers straining,
reaching harder than hard burned bricks burned fiery raging red.
Raw rim shot for a soft miss. Finish the beer, spin the bottle
on the bar, head spun too I beat a retreat
to the can. This is not me. Drinking way too much
over a face that boilermakers won’t wash away,
I pound the swinging door, bump into a big Samoan
on his way out. He pushes by, says nothing.
I piss out beer I can’t hold onto anything anymore,
zip carefully so’s not to catch, rinse clenched hands in cold water.
Look up. Me? I see my face in the mirror, cracked
over the sink and bleeding. Sucker punch. For a moment, I think
I look just like you. With what-ifs how they hung so low
in the sky, untouchable stars, their sharp points twinkling,
stinging me like cactus needles of if only, bad decision,
can’t do, and won’t, and want, and whatnot. Why?
I blink to gleam you in my hand.
Wish this all away and put it in my pocket.