My Own Window to Stare Out

 I would so very much love to press my face against my days to come like a brave little boy staring down a lion at the zoo through bulletproof plexiglass, teeth and nose dripping. But death, thanks to an addiction that lasted years and years, does not seem to be stumbling much on its way to fetch me. Nope. And the neighbor's dog is barking, so---damned lightning and its crashes---I know it's practically right here now. I'm burnt toast, as they say, and the ugly brown hills agree. They keep telling me not to even bother with my suspenders. Just roll another cigarette while I'm still able and be like that one old friend who lives in the foothills of western Oregon. Become my own rocking chair. My own window to stare out.

stars and stars---

cattails

black as creosote