30 Pieces

Four to bribe him out of jail till dawn.
One more for a deposit. Seven
for the titty bar, gin, that red back booth
where no one spotted us, a lap dance

built for God. At the all-night club, nine
for jazz and barbecue. One for one
last moon. Sally, Eve, and Joan still trolled
for final throws before the night was done,

but we had time, grief, big plans to keep,
world poised for a sun, like stone, to sneak
across us. We still had eight—enough for
eggs, a copy of the Post, his bribe

back in for three. For one, my bit of rope.