et cetera

The bandoneon softly moans,

the sky gleams in a puddle
on the still black street.

My hand brushes

red-stained pistachio shells

beside the escalator's rail

as I rise from the station.

My mind still filled with the thriller

I've been reading on the train.

The jackhammers chattering

on Broadway mask the sonata

piped out to the sidewalk

in front of the news stand

Where I'll buy this week's

lotto tickets and a hot rod magazine

because the thriller isn't likely

to get me all the way home.

Although the odds of a winning ticket

far exceed the odds of my demise,

I always play the Tuesday Mega

and the Wednesday Super.

I've yet to win a single dollar.

Perhaps that's what keeps me alive.

God's gift is love and life

and if I should hit the numbers,

I'd never see the cash,

I'd be dead within a week.

At least that's my conceit.

I've got the life and love,

my mother, brother, and my lover,

that's all the proof I need.

Now the morning's clouds

have burned away,

the jackhammer is still

eating up the street,

And this month of memorials

both terrible and sweet,

when summer ends

and school begins,

the lessons chalked

on mind's slate.

A friend is coming

for dinner tonight

and I will make for us

a fine and simple meal.