Tuesday, February 12, 2019


Out of This Country

Talking only to myself under the shuddering lights
of the YMCA, the Mexican War Streets storm into
the perilous evening. Somewhere my son is grinning
and getting ready to yell. I feel as though I could
collapse on some manicured stoop and with little
effort disappear into the dust. The park must be
some battlefield where the ghosts of our failures
stalk one another, the blood of good intentions
staining the ground. A few bucks and here's a bourbon
poured neat. A few more and now I'm surrounded
by new friends. Where will it all lead? With a fool
in the White House all things are possible. Every
manner of humiliation right there at my fingertips.
Say you are lost, this will bind you to the rest of us.
Out of this valley there is a chance at a better life.
Out of this city, out of this state. Out of this country.
It's a time for sad truths. This is the best life I could
hope for. The same could be said of you. Don't let
it be said of you.

--Kristofer Collins 

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