Seller's

Today I was offered a cigarette.
The same brand my estranged father smoked.
He doesn’t accept or speak to me,
but I did.

I said I will let you keep running,
let you burn through until
I say I’ve had enough
is to say at last
to unhinging doors on a shrine,
setting the trophy to weather
it’s way through futures.

Until then, I replace you
with a silhouette of history
to rust as the ironmark reminder
in turnstyles, taking root.

You are the parable,
the cross or the hill,
yesterdays mild improvement
today; groomed, admired and lost,
a sentence I no longer expect to punish into ending
as what I want
has yet to sell.