Curtain Call.

I step outside

Sunshine blazes over the bar
raised on a cold winter’s afternoon,
she mocks with the left while the right
teases with the warmth of a boxer
entrenched, tides roll, seize the moment
beneath the willow crying on each corner,
sign of the times as snow falls in spring
wets the appetite of sinners distilled with pain,
delirious at the second coming of an end.

Lighting a cigarette
I watch the lights go out one by one.

The curtain falls, I pray.

© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw