Spare Gold

Cleveland's streets are wet black ink

With the fog of breath crawling up the pavement, an even speed

I trade corners under a green light

Fishing in the spare blank of a pocket

As it rests there now

 

Knowing, for another dry day, it could buy me a few bites

Maybe a room with cigarette burns on the floor

Maybe a date with the owner of the pawn store

 

So effortlessly I taste the wind

Sampling what I've already lost, given

 

I wear another ring now

Under my left eye, it rises

Like the sin of the moon on skin

 

Still fingering the gold of a hidden treasure

I keep it a secret, this cast-off wedding ring

It was so much easier to remove

Than the stale freezer burn cupcakes, we never ate

 

They were omens- the trashing of our untouched reception cake

The bug crawling out of your boutineer

The creep at the gas station

No rental cars that weekend

 

Maybe I should send this gold back over the border

Pay it to the cartel for your release

Give these inky roads something new to write