The wine had been sitting in the glass
for three hot days
when I poured it
down
the
sink
& saw the stain
it left
on the side:
a sigil
a rune-like mark
Of some sort,
representing
Angel or demon,
Benediction
Or curse?
The drinker’s version of ‘the writing
on the wall’?
A message from another world?
I look at it long
Unsettled.
Perplexed.
what does it look like to you?
So far I’ve dodged the bullet
The Damoclean sword
But I know it’s coming for me.
I have its word.
It’s waiting in the rafters.
It’s waiting in the pews.
It has interminable patience
& that is not good news.
It knows my area of weakness
My Achilles heel.
It’s waiting for me to slip up.
It knows I will.
It will not be beaten.
It will not be assuaged.
I open the door tentatively.
It maybe in the yard.
A jagged lump
of
Anthracite?
A crab carcass
Pointy
with spikes
Black as soot.
No!
A 3-cornered
Jack just
Plucked from
My foot.
John Malone 