The Omaha Gate

Lost in a card game

that others would pass

I feel the time slowing

while covering fast

A dim all-night roadhouse

blue plate of regret

whose neon but flickers

my hunger to bet

A pot full of memory

has come unannounced

with bare knuckled waging

I raise every doubt

But the road’s calling silent

 its direction unclear

my thumb pointing inward

to ante the fear

The odds long but taken

to gamble and run

my fortune extended

and past rebegun

A graveyard sits lonely

on the side of a hill

 awaiting those fated

last dealer to kill

A light in the distance…

the ‘Omaha Gate’

it’s twelve minutes early

tomorrow is late

Asleep in the boxcar

alone with myself

the questions keep playing

—one ace left undealt

(Sinking Springs Diner: December, 2021)