Smashing Pomegranates
life is like a betting game;
the cards you play are yours to blame.
cut them high, and you’re in luck
spin them low, your hand is stuck
a dance of fate and false control
the end is nigh, the joker’s null
the stakes are high, the humor’s low
as buyers wait for gun to blow.
I think about this as I stand
at the pomegranate stand
upon a stack my gaze did crawl
of muted fuchsia bowling balls.
I mull it over in my mind,
the answer that I cannot find:
had not I thought to stay ashore,
the night it rained at caper core,
the day the waters swirled in rage
that man and fish could not engage
and waves on high took me instead,
not boy of nine, who could’ve fled
and the corpse was mine that lay,
dormant in the darkened bay,
blue and cold, claimed by time
lost in folds of salt and grime.
had not I glimpsed the girl in red
and stepped back straight to tilt my head
that gloomy eve of autumn fright
a last and lovely lonely night
and auto splashed my lit cigar
with blood, not water, from the car
and it was my head that rolled,
down the sidewalk though the cold,
an empty throat, a strangled sigh
a feast for rats and curious eyes.
had not I knocked the crystal cask
up off the rim of porcelain bath
but rather downed it in a blaze
and sunk beneath, alone and dazed,
and it was my skin that creased
as my heart did die, deceased
doomed of poison from the vine
a victim of goodwill and wine
now you see, my friend, I’m cursed
of punishment there is no worse
to live your life a slave to chance,
a neverending wrenching dance
we’re players to the betting ruse,
our sentence done, we wait to lose,
and there’s no greater, horrid spite
than falling swiftly from the heights,
of soaring past the jagged stones,
expecting death, receiving bone
I look down at my fingers red
the smooth pink fruit, my grip did shred
crushed in my hand, its beauty smothered
my soul aroused, I grab another
to throw it down, I’ll do the deed
if only I can see it bleed.
Photo Credits: Michel Ditzel (unsplash)