Chuck A Stetson is a published Connecticut poet and photographer. When he isn’tdaydreaming, you might find him on the backroads of New England with borrowed camera documenting what he thinks he sees.
In the December Grey by Chuck A Stetson
after Satan laughs
it begins
there will be no Vicodin today
In the parking lot a shadowy figure mumbled a kind of
hello. At first I thought him a hallucination, but with the
sun breaking through the bleakness and codeine deprivation
vice-gripping my brain, I recognized Gary’s black onyx ring
loosely fit on his crooked right ring finger. How I hated him, once
a friend, now a specter, a haunting reminder of when my boys
were young and I still called Fran my wife.
more ghosts jump from
a worn Altoid’s tin
Gary lit a hand rolled cigarette; desolation swirled around his acrid plume.
I breathed in the heaviness; I exhaled a tired breath.
knee-pained
buzz-deprived
sweat, chills… damned this crawling skin
Why a computer programmer chose to rob banks after his divorce, I’ve no
answer. Eight years in a Michigan prison, a lifetime… shit, prison life is an
oxymoron; his soul’s forever an inmate. His children, his friends, all moved on.
I knew this about Gary…
$40 for 20mg
Satan accepts credit
Gary doesn’t
And my lockup is measured in cravings, milligrams, broken promises and
disillusioned children — mine, Fran’s, ours. There will be no Vicodin today,
I am broke… broken in the December grey.
© chuck a stetson 2012
A stunning image by Chuck….
Ravenous Butterflies 