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Runcible Spoon

heart logo Privacy Notice Jim Zola

                  Supplication

 

I count food trucks lined by the curb

on my drive home. Hunger fogs

my windows as I long

for sweet chicory brew

or syrupy vodka sloshed

in a jelly jar.

 

Arriving to an empty house

is a luxury I cannot

afford. I try to explain

to my kids how this endless dance,

this living from can't see

in the morning to can't see

 

at night is reason enough.

I'm not a good liar.

Tonight, when I pull in

the driveway, I sit and listen

to some concerto

in B flat minor.

 

If I open the door,

the music will die.

Through the passenger window

I watch a squirrel chittering

warnings. Looking up I see

a red-shouldered hawk looking back.

 

There must be a prayer

for moments like this.