Poem-A-Day: Day 19

Last Call

a slap in the face
and a promise of
steady attendance
to a classroom drenched
in neon lights
the smell of despair
misery and mire
sludge of wasted dreams
genius and
a trite attempt at
best made attempts
uncorking a pale comparison
that would become
or has
what now
have more
in sudden realization
bread a salted round
and dropping dime
on wet counters
leaving under the power
of my own true self