Blue ribbons
To lose one’s life (You
say) is to die by inches.
And here I am having
sprung another leak,
soaking red the bed sheet
torn into strips,
lured again by the
barker’s pitch
and the bawdy wink, swept
away
by the ignorant tides,
the grinder’s wheel
and the smell of
sweat. She’ll guess
my weight and age, the
painted lady offers.
Why, I’m a featherweight
and as old as the stars.
Circling the tawdry
midway, fooled again
by the bright lights, the
weighted targets,
the crooked scales; by
the rhinestones,
the smoke, the make-up
and mirrors.
The admission is free
into this carnie world
erected in the middle of
a cow pasture
where two state highways
cross
and disappear in opposite
directions.
But, you have to pay to
get out
and I can’t come up with
the fee
having gambled away all
my money
on teddy bears and
goldfish and shiny blue ribbons.
O child of God, to lose
one’s life is to die by inches
on the immeasurable path
back to your original abode.
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