Friday Night Blazer

it is autumn tonight in Philadelphia
cool air through the screen
first time all year
the chained dog’s bark on the air
short and sharp, and get on with his chow
but the unleashed howl, they howl in long desperate pleas:
“Cast ooooff, Cast ooooooff,” at the city night
as the hull beckons the keel, as the sternum beckons the sailor
luminous skyline to the south, empty dark above
“Cast ooooooofffff, Cast ooooffff,” for there is no hope
and that is the trick
let me greet the cool night air
as the sixty-year-old South Philly bachelor
tonight, his Friday night blazer
alone, no hope, but that a younger woman may brush his hand
flip her hair, reveal her neck
now there it is
his hair slicked to the scalp with lubricant
slick it back, slick it back, reveal
no need to hide the lines
slick it back, slick it back
“my face is here,” he says with repeated strokes of the comb
“and here is a scar, and here is a deep line
follow them, dear, with your soft finger there”
Cast off, Cast off
“for I am the old, the dark, these things unknown to you:
the cool air of this city, a vicious howl on it
is there not redemption here?”
but instead alone I sit tonight
snuggling up to a dictionary
my rosary beads are the bookmark