September 2, 2019

This poem is the end of a trilogy . . . maybe.

Cast

My lines are cast,

Nothing more I can do to prepare.

May they stay un-entwined,

As they bring a school to inquire.

The hook, the bait, the path

I took to carry the weight,

Carefully planned, as if the last

Chance to spin and reel.

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The dice are cast,

And on the face my fate is set.

Will betrayal come from snake eyes,

Or will it play out as natural?

The cup, the toss, the collision

As they criss cross each other's way,

Pure randomness may even end as floored

But definitive in what's waged.

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The break is cast,

And the words get quickly plastered.

If the spine is fractured,

Then the suit is not enough.

The splint, the liner, the wrap

Protect and punctuate my state,

The sweat and itch will perpetuate

Long after the shell is signed away.