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have kept it where some stupid burglar
could find it. Steal it. Pawn it.
Take the money and pay off her debt
to La Eme, ask for another front.
Perhaps not the best move, but I’m
no longer worried about making those.
I’m just trying to stay high and survive,
whatever that takes. I have no plans
for the future. Any future. As Cesar
might say, Qué será, será. What will
be, will be. No one lives forever, do
they? For some, living longer, slower,
less complicated lives is their only
goal. Personally, I need to live faster,
even if it means dying younger. Don’t
ask me why. As for the guilt, it comes
and goes. Mostly, it’s gone, right along
with Mom’s jewelry and a chunk of her
money. Part of me thinks she deserves
it. Another part doesn’t know why.
I Consider That in the Shower
Scrubbing off yesterday’s sweat,
last night’s sex. All of a sudden,
the front door throbs with noise.
Knocking. Pounding. Thumping.
Whoever it is wants a reaction.
But who? The manager? Cops?
Shaking, I wrap a towel around
myself, wishing Trey was here
instead of making a delivery.
