Andy Sprouse Poet Free verse

Calendrical Casino

Ten.

Ten years, I've been scared,
fearing the phone's ring.

Twenty.

Twenty years, I was,
learning how goodbye really felt.

Thirty.

Thirty years, I reached,
forty-four days ago.

Forty.

Forty, my brother was,
for fifty-seven days.

That's all he got...
and that feels like all for me.

I'm terrified, I'll admit.
Every knock on the door,
every surprise text or call,
every "hey" I wasn't expecting.

Each corner hides a death,
each day a loss on the table,
Russian Roulette be damned.
The calendar is loaded - play.

So don't call me strong.
I'm petrified, and I'll face the grief,
as I always have,
but I won't face you.

I'm running, without shame,
from contact, from laughter,
from making me feel.
My response, proudly, is to hide.

So call me what you will -
save strong.
That just reminds me -
that I have received no choice.

Thirty-three percent.

A third of my life -
looking over my shoulder.
Which do I run out of first -
fortitude, or friends?

The calendar is loaded...
no choice but to play.

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