by Bill Yarrow
As he gets into the oil-soaked tub,
he recognizes the Jupiter Symphony
playing on the floor below.
Any minute now, the waiter will
bring him his lobster omelet.
After breakfast, he dresses and heads
for the blackjack tables. When he
wins a million dollars, he will stop.
He remembers his mother's dead body,
the reunion strippers at the funeral.
Carrying a mimosa in a fluted glass,
he fights his way through the lobby
packed with firefighters from Marietta.
His mind is full of anchors and Bar Harbor.
All rights reserved.
This poem appeared in Wilderness House Literary Review.
Thank you, Irene Koronas.
This poem appears in my chapbook Fourteen (Naked Mannekin, 2011).
This poem also appears in Blasphemer (Lit Fest Pres 2015).