Riding the Exhale
by

Today I still breathe
in the streets of the undead—
immortal mortal

wandering penance
for the sins of my father—
sacrament of gin.

Halitosis lips
admonish me for my sins
but I am too gone

for tired redemption...
good advice springing like weeds
and worth just as much.

They do such good deeds
tossing coins from a distance.
Pose for the camera

and tell me of love
I will receive when I die...
but not before then.

Post-consumer me...
my asset now in default—
no longer human.

I am your zombie:
downcast eyes in a doorway
shuffling in rags.

I am real horror:
the forgotten, living dead.
One day at a time...

all I can handle.
The curb is my horizon…
riding the exhale.

HWA Poetry Showcase Volume VII
Rhysling Nominee 2021

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