Last Call

Night steps out, prancing with
the wicked glee of abandoning self-
leaves my daily grind behind
to frolic with those
who care little for consequences.

Parties start in vibrant color.
Shiny, silky patterns against
tan belly-skin and glittered breasts,
crisp cotton khaki swaggers.
Potent liquid pinks and greens on laughing lips,
frothing ambers swirling in frosted glass.

As music thrusts and pounds away senses,
the intoxicating rainbow mutes to shades of brown-
the floor, the bar, the walls spin and meld.
I strut through monochrome in lopsided lines
worn down by countless fools and sinners.
Throngs of the heartless joyful
and the danger of death were around me.

But all I hear, we hear, are cheers and jokes,
and lusty whispered promises of temporary ecstasy.

Last call sets its trap, for me and
all the others boasting of their sober skills,
lays down one more round...
         before the grave.


2 Samuel 22.6

"The danger of death was around me,
and the grave set its trap for me."