Whiskey Blues
Amorak Huey

Burnt-out cinderblock shell,
gravel parking lot,
hiss & buzz of streetlamps—
a man stopping for cigarette.
All light is artificial.
Smell of smoke,
sea-salt & scream of guitar.
It’s not gambling
when you’re the one
who shuffles the cards.
The heat too much to bear
this time of year:
power ebbs, surges, swells
& the moon reflects
the worst of us,
the shadow & ghost of us,
& you learn to recognize
the taste of thirst—
the crave & call,
flesh seeking flesh,
river seeking gulf,
take what you can,
leave before it’s too late.

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