Broke, a poem by Richard LeDue at
Timothy Dykes



written by: Richard LeDue



A 9 AM beer doesn’t fix
blacking out the night before,
when slurred “I love yous”
the most he could give an empty room,
with the rent overdue,
only for him to wake up feeling so wronged
by the way morphine dulled her cancer,
yet caused him so much pain from watching
glazed eyes open wide enough
to swallowed up death
in a single blink.

A 10 AM beer is actually his third,
while walls watch like a god
who judges the most through silence
and funeral costs,
giving a long life to credit card debt,
giving the afterlife substance
from rising interest rates and bill collectors,
who probably think about dying
as much as the average person,
but their calculated voices
still repossess his minutes.

An 11 AM beer is beginning to feel
like the escape he expects,
until the phone rings,
forcing him to give his answer
by not answering,
which allows the wordless air to speak
freely to him about the yesterdays,
when her socks on the floor
meant he wasn’t alone,
and old pay stubs in a drawer
proved they were worth something.

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