Seeking truth is like wrestling dark angels
No matter how carefully you try to grasp
Or take hold of the real, it slides away
Slips through your grip with the elusiveness
Of wings worn to whispery filaments from
Flights flown far too often in the wrong
Direction; every time you contemplate
Putting yourself out there again, going for it
The risk weighs more heavily than the time
Before and the doing, the actual seeking
Becomes less important to you, harder
To believe in, to trust that it matters,
Is worth the gamble that you might fail
You wonder when it is you will stop trying.

S.E.Ingraham©

I promise not to write another poem
about how the mighty Ukraine finally fell
to the Green army again shortly after 3am,
or to fill up space with another cliche about facing the world
or the cliche of being outspoken against cliches.
Instead I will promise not to risk inaction
and miss another week, another prompt,
and so here were are in flaming limbus again,
you with an impatient eye
and this guy with naught with this latest conscious stream.
No directions but perhaps chalk will lead the way.
When I came down with that cough for the third time this winter
it was you I thought of when I woke up at night,
saw no one and wished I had ventured more to keep you around
or get you to come around in the first place.
I didn’t realize how visible loneliness could be
until my knees buckled at the Hall,
my eyes locked on the fire in the pit.

Charlie smiled and nodded. “Okay, Lester.”

The ATM sucked his card in. Lester held his left hand up, shielding the pinpad so Charlie couldn’t see what his access code was. He loved his brother, but he didn’t want to be wiped out. To Lesters surprise, someone had beaten Charlie to it. His throat constricted as he stared at the ‘Insufficient Funds’ message.

“What the hell?”

From behind him, Charlie said, “What’s wrong?”

Feeling sick to his stomach, Lester pulled his card out and turned to face his brother. “It’s empty.”

“What do you mean, it’s empty?

“Yesterday I had over five grand in there. Where the hell did it go?” Walking back to his car, Lester said, “The only thing I can think is Angel must have took it.” They both got in and Lester pulled out, heading for her place.

A police cruiser was sitting in front of Angels building. Circling the block, Lester found a spot on a side street and he and Charlie walked through an alley, emerging behind the building. They entered through a back door and was halfway down the hall, heading for the end apartment, when they heard a voice behind them.

“Lester.”

They spun around to find Angel, peeking out of someone else’s door. “What are you doing in there?” Lester started, then remembered why he’s there. “Where’s my money?”

“Get in here,” she swung the door wide and motioned for them to enter. “Hurry, before someone sees us.”

The two enter the apartment. Again, he asked, “Where’s my money?”

“Please, Lester. Let me explain.”

“You got two minutes.”

“I owed someone lot of money. I saw one of your ATM receipts and saw how much you had and I just went for it. I’m sorry. I’ll give it back. It’s in my purse, let me get it.” She got up and disappeared into the next room.

“But how’d you get my PIN?”

“That’s easy. Ninety percent of people use either the last four digits of their phone number, or some combination of their birthday. I took a chance and hit it on the first one.”

“So, why are the cops here” They could hear Angel ruffling around with something.

“Because I called and told them that the biggest drug dealer in West Virginia would be here in less than a half hour,” she came back into the livingroom with her undercover badge hanging from her belt and her service revolver pointed right at them. Two more officers were right behind her with their pistols drawn. “Lester Coyle, you’re under arrest.”

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