BLUE PERIOD #3 – R. Gerry Fabian

In relative shades,

the true fugitives

limp along 

by the side of the road

toward a mirage lottery.

Winter masquerades as a season

but there is more

to this frozen barrier:

timid blue jays in April,

pale children in July,

ex-lovers in September

and the mistake of superficial color

that is raked in late autumn.

In bar room kitchens

the exhaust fans

don’t play favorites.

Once inside

when the hinges

of memory speak,

it only ages:

in musty clothes,

weathered skin

and liquor parched lips.

These days

exits

aren’t graceful.