Last Days
by Liam McKee


I lost myself in the last days of desire
knowing I'd soon pass from men's eyes,
and walk the streets of this dear old town
a ghost.
I stayed out all night, roamed bar to bar,
man to man, chatting them up, draping an arm
and steering them off their rebuffs -- the song
and dance of a traveling salesman.
I wore pinwheels on my shoes,
a coo-coo clock behind my zipper.
I picked up speed. I asked yes? no? I moved on.
Faster and faster, a souped-up jalopy gunning
until doors tore off, bumpers tumbled away,
the flame-painted hood flipped up and over, exposing
the bare heart of the engine.






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