my gumption is gone.

when yer born on bourbon,

books and bawdy pictures,

it all takes its toll.

you harden up,

not quite like concrete,

but more like glass.

brittle and breakable.

clear and drinkable.

i’m the type of man

who can keep his mouth shut,

but that don’t say too much for the eyes.

they’re the traitors,

the rats,

the stool pigeons,

as it were.

my wink could span a mile.

it’s true,

my toothy broken smile

bares its teeth for you,

and only you.

or so i thought.

i could stand here for days

with thin mints and lemonade

and give my love away,

but if there ain’t no hand to hold that heart,

who can you blame?

would you scold the mouse which sees the trap?

sure, there’s something tasty,

but that snap is something wicked.

that poor rodent knows better.

she’s got that hole in the wall

she can skitter into,

one my furry paws cannot claw at.