Bob Drojarski

HOME

he holds his breath
at the thought of going back
to a life reduced to a double saw buck bet
on a three teamer going south

down forgotten streets on crooked dreams
past cemeteries that still had room for him
for trying to turn a marriage into cash

that killed his house and left him in this place
where he listens for footsteps on the walk
and fumbles for his keys before

he unlocks the door and exhales
walking through his own breath to home
where the people you hope to find
you never do

—from Rattle #26, Winter 2006