Shaking Tins

You get what you get:seminaries never answerto chance.

The pool table blooms with quarters—a copse of nickel trees.

To hear the bartender perform numerologywith drink ordersis a kind of neon altar call.

(34 whiskey sours bear wino introspections).

Walking past the closing bars,she describes their futures:embezzlement, a new paint job, and onesecond location.

To hear this, alongside the buzzof closed signs,to feel your tips bulgein your front pocket

is to see the silk road collapseinto a single point.

The great hereafter:

Tomorrow there’ll be people,and they’ll be drinking.