One of Multitudes

Fifth of July, and I just barely watched fireworks
for all the blue eyes collared into working.
Begging free beer close to shift end.
Bragging clean bathrooms.

Asking the boy who brought me his plans for his evening.
And it is. His. He has that placid right. Not to answer.
Reserve. Just became manager.
Over these early twenty girls.
And they like the game.
They like his name.

Drunk and sliced thumbs prying off pop tops while driving.
Drunk. And taking tin metal shots of tequila.
Blaming weed for the spins.
Selected one from multitudes of sins.
Of choice. One of multitudes.

Not making the best of this or any other situation.
Not living to make the best. Just better.

Decisions so convoluted and tipsy
that’s hardly the word for them.

to let go

Time rises like the sun
hard to miss
high above
apparent and inspiring

to work more
finish each day like the last
and time sets just as fast.

shrinks to halves
into quarters
to slivers and gone.

Time is plenty
and time is none
like the sun
defined by light
but also shadow.

that challenges us to take hold
also asks
to be let go.