Final Approach

He struggled down the walk, through the wet snow

Walking as the afternoon turned to dusk  

 

Late afternoon on a January day

 

It didn’t take long for the blue light to roll into purple, then black

Still, he walked

That slush now frozen into a rugged mess of ice

worse than the wet mess that preceded it

each step losing half of its traction - slow going now

 

The falling snow layered upon his head and shoulders and face

 

He came upon the place

as good as any and better than most

Inside, the after-work crowd

the blowing hot air of the heating vents

humidity of sweat and melting snow

 

He inserted himself at the bar, tightly packed between patrons

 

When one vacated the stool, he took it

As his head bobbed down towards his sleeve

He smelled the wet wool

that vintage scent

 

Still so cold, he sat there in the old wet overcoat

The melting snow on his hair dripped onto his cigarette

He watched the wet paper dry as the ember burned closer

 

The band played

The people swayed  

Upon the bar he laid, horizontal and long

They placed their drinks on his forehead and his belt

an ashtray on his chest

A woman stroked his wet hair as she flirted  

with the stranger next to her

Above him, the pendant lights hung from the ceiling, a runway

guiding this craft as it plummets through the storm

 

Fasten your seatbelts

This is our final approach