THIS GUY LUKE
He’s not sure how he’s made it
this far. And with a job in a
garage to go with his two room
apartment above the hardware store.
Now if only it had A/C.
He rolls Zig Zags when he’s
flat on his back under the car lift.
He borrows a wrench every now
and then to fix the faucets in his digs.
Or hold open the window
when the temperature hits the 90’s.
He has a lover or, at least,
someone under thirty-five
that he’s on first names with.
She’s the devil when she’s drunk
and there’s a warrant out for her
three counties over
for cutting a man’s cheek
with a broken bottle.
He’s on the law’s watch list himself.
Some break-ins they can’t prove.
His pit bull bit the pastor.
He’s due in court for a DUI.
And there’s this woman,
over thirty-five this time,
whose eye his fist turned black.
He can’t believe that he’s not
in jail someplace.
He doesn’t go around
hiding who he is or hiding from it.
He could be fired any moment.
Or locked up. Or his lover
could leave him for someone
more dependable and with
less of a temper.
Folks say he lives on the edge.
But the edge is his true center.
©2020 John Grey All rights reserved.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Hawaii Pacific Review, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Blueline, Willard and Maple, and Steam Ticket.