Sober

Crazy cocaine crystalized eyes
Handlebar mustache of dirt and ash
Death manifested on his tongue in the form
of a welt from eating cigars
Makeshift windowless van driven by alcohol
Car crashes, kills cats and dogs
He leaves for his promised land north
but who knows
Perhaps he's a bum living on change
Downtown Ottawa
No more days when every red van is his
No more middle aged men possesed by late childhood
He has the essence somewhere
Maybe in his brain?
             stomach?
             ribs?
             liver?
             heart?
Months later unknown call from Yukon
Goes unaswered
Call back and his voice crawls through
the phone
No longer sounds like his throat is made
of eagle talons
I hope he's sober