A Ticket Out

I feel myself descending into hell
By several means at once.  I'm old.
The solitude I knew, the tree farm
And the deep ravine, the next-door
Pasture, all have gone, replaced
By parvenus and tasteless houses.
My son's baby cries,  She's spoiled,
Buzzing awfully, like a drone, when
She's not held by Momma.  I can't
Write when there's such noise, and I
Can't even fake some half-assed
Arhat's piece of peace of mind.
I mutter as I search for solace,
Something no one in these dreary
Suburbs can expect to find.
The escalators draw me downward.
Hell is half a floor away, but, in my
Favor, I've an out, a double shot
Of Islay scotch, a taste of peat,
A surer shortcut to the arhat's
Claim of calm.  Drain the glass,
I will, and, subsequently, sidestep
Hell for sleep.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 32 times
Written on 2022-06-14 at 12:17

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
A great read. The pains and pleasures of living with ones relatives - even temporarily. I too know these well.
2022-06-15