(20 minute poetry)

We don't like being reminded of
those things left behind us
when the future's waiting out there
on the edge.

I stepped on the cracks and
never crossed my fingers
never threw salt over my shoulders or
held my breath passing cemeteries.

In a backward glance
I'd say I missed my chance,
the last ship sailed at dawn.

Sweat and cheap scent bring me back to the present
back on the underground line.
bed and board only five pounds a week
which is another peek back at the past.

Never's a right time
and it's always
a good time
here
on the underground line.

Disease hand in hand
with old age and
unease
tightens the band
and
my chest is on fire.

Time to retire?
almost
I think
but
some things I
think too much.
Let me light the blue
touchpaper and run
burn my eyes blue
on one more summer
Sun
before
I go.