Cold,Again

.

It’s cold again, a gray, arthritic rain.

But it’s time to start the long walk,

Urgent stroll that’s become now more frequent,

If anyone’s counting, which is doubtful.

He lost track weeks ago.

.

Opens glass door to the only place that matters

These days, anyway.

Picks up a fifth of whatever’s on sale

Brand name or quality, he doesn’t care,

As long as it’s cheap, high proof enough to

Steel his soul; cloud his mind, obscure raw pain.

Buys a carton of unfiltered Camels,

Figuring, the more he smokes them,

The quicker they’ll kill him.

Wouldn’t that be a most welcome small miracle?

.

There are always bills, payments, letters forgotten,

Most of all, just reminders of a life

Way beyond past due,

Where it’s always cold, despite liquid fire,

Glowing red coals, lung-choking chimney fumes.

Won’t look at old pictures, not even think

That there was a once upon a time when

Fairy princesses, shining knights

Were real, or romance, or

Lying, heart breaking happily ever afters.

.

Purchases made, time for lonely trip back,

Remembers a joke, someone knew,

That when he died, he would get to Heaven

Because, he’d already served time in Hell.

It used to be funny.