Essays poem

Old Scar

You whisper to me with every

fleeting glimpse:

Accusation! Guilt! Reasons

you should not be,

like a snake, running

up my arm on one side, down

the other, looking

for a hole to hide

you from mongoose eyes

that know your genesis

in my reckless past.

Twenty-plus years have faded

you, almost to the color of flesh

you used to be before

they laid me down,

opened me up to bleed

out the bad medicine

I remember!

So I never use that hand

to lift my whiskey anymore.

Some lessons,

I refuse to learn through pain 2000