a poem by Jason L. Huskey
We Pay In Dollar Coins
thinking about drinking again,
about the unmoved telephone,
how her ring ain't sang in weeks.
like a low stack checking the hands.
Pair, pair, nothing, flush, how her cheeks
flared the last night they kissed.
hands folded about the hollow breasts
that followed the harvest moon down.
He's at the bar thinking about drinking again,
eyes captive to the colored labels of his youth.
His liver's out on display at the hospital,
stuffed like someone's dead kitty cat ready to purr.
let them snuggle in the soil without sigh --
set him along just south of the suggested gates
and find her pretty upon a cloud in time.