The Omaha Gate

Lost in a card game that others would pass I feel the time slowing while covering fast A dim all-night roadhouse blue plate of regret whose neon but flickers my hunger to bet A pot full of memory has come unannounced with bare knuckled waging I raise every doubt But the road’s calling silent its direction unclear my thumb pointing inward to ante the fear The odds long but taken to gamble and run my fortune extended and past rebegun A graveyard sits lonely on the side of a hill awaiting those fated last dealer to kill A light in the distance… the ‘Omaha Gate’ it’s twelve minutes early tomorrow is late Asleep in the boxcar alone with myself the questions keep playing —one ace left undealt (Sinking Springs Diner: December, 2021)