Click Page 64

Poetry of Issue #8        Page 64

“BETWIXT AND BETWEEN”

It wasn’t just her, everything was turning sour.

No more bleeding Gatorade or dying of heat stroke;
The big show was fading
Like the logo on an old t-shirt.

You can’t see the path to hell
Until you stumble onto it.

“It’s a thin line,” she said.

Talking shit and singing scat,
It’s a cinch that you take what you can get,
Until you’ve had enough.

He’ll be damned
That had once been your evening wear.
Or prom date.

And in this urgent landscape
There’s only one pair of shoes.

I felt lost without my childhood sled.

We’re moving to a place where there are no tennis courts.

No more bleeding Gatorade or dying of heat stroke.

It’s a cinch that you take what you can get.

They first told him he had zinc poisoning from his denture adhesive—
So much for the specialists.

Just keep stumbling forward. And ignore the ghosts.

Talking shit and singing scat are attached at the hip.

And two hips make an ass.

I fear I’m repeating on me.

He’ll be damned.

It turned out to be sinus cancer;
So much for the specialists.

“It’s a thin line,” she said.

  Ian Ganassi