The Last Minutes

drinks never tasted so sour
poured down throats with lumps
night after night winter toiling windows rattle
squirrels scratch on the gutters of our brains
foreheads rubbed raw from anxiety
going over and over in our minds
recounting how we played the game
with debts of costumes, props and stage
roof slates fall off past decisions
drinks never so drunken sloppy
mice nibbling concern on couch cushions
coming soon—house auction on court steps 
candlelit backed cockroaches dance 
dust blows silent shame in corners

Poem from Heirs of November (2017)