Hey now. Hey.
Strong feelings get’cha
where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?
The bar is thick with smoke and broken dreams,
another whiskey-soaked night.
Jack, you bastard,
where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?
Your knuckles bruised, your soul a mess,
you stagger through the grime of the city,
with her scent still clinging to your clothes.
in dank dark wet New Orleans
Your knuckles are cracked,
your heart’s a wasteland,
her perfume still lingers
on your ragged coat
In the smoke you lost your mind
left her bleeding on the floor
her screams ricocheting off
the walls of a miserable room,
like the final echoes of a bad dream.
what did she do?
was it her laugh, her touch,
or the way she glanced at other men,
like you were already a dead man walking?
Now you’re running
gonna take a dive
off the sunshine bridge
and swim with the currents
of the Mississippi River______
another dead man.
:: 05172024 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 