after Satan laughs
there will be no Vicodin today
In the parking lot a shadowy figure mumbled a kind of
hello. At first I thought him a hallucination, but with the
sun breaking through the bleakness and codeine deprivation
vice-gripping my brain, I recognized Gary’s black onyx ring
loosely fit on his crooked right ring finger. How I hated him, once
a friend, now a specter, a haunting reminder of when my boys
were young and I still called Fran my wife.
more ghosts jump from
a worn Altoid’s tin
Gary lit a hand rolled cigarette; desolation swirled around his acrid plume.
I breathed in the heaviness; I exhaled a tired breath.
sweat, chills… damned this crawling skin
Why a computer programmer chose to rob banks after his divorce, I’ve no
answer. Eight years in a Michigan prison, a lifetime… shit, prison life is an
oxymoron; his soul’s forever an inmate. His children, his friends, all moved on.
I knew this about Gary…
$40 for 20mg
Satan accepts credit
And my lockup is measured in cravings, milligrams, broken promises and
disillusioned children — mine, Fran’s, ours. There will be no Vicodin today,
I am broke… broken in the December grey.
© chuck a stetson 2012