Mud clods my eyes – the Old Year gallops down the home stretch harder than a filly in the Belmont Stakes, hooves adventing dirt from December’s frozen track.
I’ve wagered these poems – Grief to win, place or show. Death and Taxes the Daily Double. My betting slips are puny with rhyme, tattered from rubbing them for luck.
Behind the window it’s Jesus, my bookie – takes bets in his green dealer shades, garters on his sleeve. He winks at my Trifecta – no Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, but Jazz, Blues and Rock & Roll in the third. The fix is in.
Failing light and wind whip my cheeks. I taste the bit’s steel in my mouth. Rider, oh Rider, I have given you my all. Rider, oh Rider, forgive me if I stumble.
For Shay’s Word Garden
qbit 
Cheers! For sure, this is a poem that rewards multiple reads ~~each time I discovered another layer of meaning. WOW! Jesus as bookie in “green dealer shades” blends sacred with profane. The trifecta of Father, Son, Holy Ghost standing in for Jazz, Blues, Rock & Roll? Yet another WOW!
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Thank you so much Helen!!
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You’ve a fine hand at combining whimsy and wit with the larger, darker voices in the air at present. I like the image of Jesus as your bookie, as indeed, aren’t all the gods, accepting our wagers of faith and laughing up their gartered sleeves as they throw a new curveball at us. Happy Yule to you, qbit, and thanks for all the words.
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Thank you so much. As my Swedish cousins would say – God jul.
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