Good Cheap Wine

Late at night, the only sounds are muffled music
and the buzz of neon.
A few cars remain, and a stray cat
stands sentry on a fence post.

The temptation calls,
to walk through the dark doors
and settle in at the familiar counters
and disappear in the late night lingerers,
to become invisible,
beautifully anonymous,
another grey-haired soul with a drink and a story.
it is safe, that anonymity,
for no one knows you here,
and no one cares. They have seen it all.
Every night, new strangers, interchangeable
one with the other,
night after night.

The neon buzzes “Good Cheap Wine.”
On and off. Off and on, gaudy and passionate,
oblivion’s promises,
like a side show barker telling a flexible truth
loud and repetitive,
alluring only to the lost,
which covers most of us one time or another,
an audience always replenishing itself.

You stand at the sign a moment
and smile at all the ways you know
to become invisible,
and the folly of it,

You walk and the buzzing fades in the night.
The music fades in the night.
You walk, far and far and still farther
until you reach the end of the world,
where waves lap the sand.
You take off your shoes and feel the sand,
giving and forgiving.

From here, you can see the stars.
You can smell the salt.
You are exposed and there is no hiding,
a sole sinner standing where God can see you
and plunge his tender dagger in your heart,
where magic can find you
and there is no escape.

For it is in the silence,
in the lonely places
that truth is found,
and you may flee them
or accept the exchange
of your truth
for the truth,
a rich wine, far from cheap,
and beyond, so very far beyond
merely good.