hope for the hopeless
the broken back deck
slouches against the house.
it has given up, like you,
like your wife, like your marriage,
like your children who
have moved away because
of the bottles & the hoarding,
like the dog in the yard that
no longer barks at passerby
because everyone is a passerby,
even you; in fact everyone
has given up on you,
even God, who realizes
& has realized from the beginning
what you are not capable of
& blessed you with the incapacity
for self-reflection & even now
as storm clouds gather above
your slap-dash bungalow,
you think that pile of scratchers
is your ticket to salvation.
maybe today is the day,
the day you pick up the hammer
& fix the braces & mend the steps,
but first you must find a quarter &
finish the bourbon & then you will be
ready to find your pants & begin
the day a man rich in knowledge
of his merciless, ignorant luck.