scars

bar room toughs all schlitzed and jacked
sneer through heavy brows
and brass knuckled teeth

a stitched jagged line
folded poorly beneath an ear
threads a story still growing
in the shadows of Memphis

a soldier buys his Bacardi soothe
with just a push of a sleeve
showing how little
shrapnel thinks of muscle

a sort of glory, I suppose
and not to be wasted

the former champ's thrice broken nose
a second baseman's
spike shredded calf

all ribbons of a man who fought

my scars, though, hide in lament
shamed in broken trust
stitched in crooked pity

where there is no amigos
no locker room
no challengers
no medals nor purple ribbons

here on this rock
the northern wind salts my wound
while wave upon wave purge the black blood
that streams into crystal blue indifference

a rhythm that couldn't care less
that my grave sports no wings

here it is under a stucco sky
in the shadow of languid pine
that i finger my scars
and miss the affliction