Friday, December 27, 2019


As long as everyone who cares is still
charitably huddled 
around this old wooden 

metaphor of a table—
dog-tired by now, and dying 
to know 

just how much longer 
a correspondingly metaphorical 
coin will go on spinning—does it matter,

when it finally falls 
flat, whether the vacant silver
face that stares back

elicits their thoughts
(as the abject and silent 
majority hopes), or if 

it comes down the same
way as before—in accordance 
with the gut-hunches of the most

experienced onlookers:
on the mythical magic tails
of their prayers?