I am annoyed at the mirror of myself.

Painting time on the walls. Only I forgot the second coat.

Restless and weak my will stands still.

Understanding the battle is just over that hill.

I have no time to let that old paint dry.

I claw and scratch to let it go on by.

I draw breath in this hapless shell.

Wondering if I will ever go to hell.

I close my eyes and peek around the corner.

The carnival rides and dunking tank are attractive glitter.

I approach with fear and trepidation.

I grab a ball and throw it as if I was Nolan Ryan.

I hit shit and the ball slows with a thud.

What does this say about my faith?

Jack and shit?

My help shall come.

From that battle over that hill.

I crack my knuckles and wait for the fight.

I sweat and the beads collect at the corners of my mouth across my mustache.

I whip my brow and face and flick the sweat on the floor.

I am exhausted from waiting.

I get up am go looking for that fight.

There was God smoking a Camel and leanin’ on a wall.

Our eyes met and the light stick was tossed as more knuckles cracked.

God said, “ boy you gonna fell this in the mornin’!”

As if I was Sue and God was the one that named me, we fought.

In to the night…cut, slash, and crack.

I got my ass kicked.

But I fought back!

And unlike the man named Sue I did not win.

I lay there tired and restless.

Plannin’ revenge.

God kicked my ass again and I want to get even.

There goes the pompadoured divinity sauntering away.

Turning back to me God says, “Son you I have let you live so you may fight another day.”