mouthful of cheap beer
gets caught on the
sudden lump in my throat,
bubbles burning all the way
up to my nose

i want to cry,
hot tears burning the backs
of my eyes

maybe throw my head back
and howl mournfully at that
big old moon, always so far away

and i’ve never been much
of a praying man,
but i’d still press my aching knees
into the soft dirt right outside that
lonely little cemetery chapel

and i won’t ask for succor,
have no plans to confess my sins,
just want to pretend for a spell
that i can find comfort in
something greater than myself

and maybe the cold metal
of the handle, that lovely wood grain,
will burn its way into the skin of
my palms when i try to step inside

and maybe i’ll let it,
just this one time