Waiting for a Sign From God in Front of Luke’s Liquors

I walked into it, straight to the rack at the back,
to the hefty bottles that need their own handle,
paid in cash and sat on the curb, waiting
for the sun to explode. I knew it would happen,
a whitish blast of light I had seen in a dream
a few nights before, after a night of zombie flicks,
the walking dead chewing on hearts.

This heat said something: the crust was melting,
dwindling down into silicon puddles.
My sweat felt like the expulsion of all things
ugly, and it felt right against my skin. When my cell rang
and I saw it was her, I pressed it past,
and called Rita instead. She knew how things were,
always knew for the right price.

A scarred El Camino pulled up, stopped just at my knees
and diablo himself scooched out. Rita had said to drop by at 7:00,
so I hung up and then saw the glossy wood handle in the dude’s jeans,
the look of the devil in his eyes. I kept my gaze to the ground,
tied my shoelace, anything but acknowledge his hellish bent.
After the store door swung open and closed, I raised
a healthy swig to my lips, shook off the shivers

and jerked at the two pops from inside the store. I thought
of my prayer early that morning, “Please God, let me know
how things will turn out, press your sweet palm to my head,
fill me with knowing.” I found a $50 bill outside my door later
and knew He was guiding my way. Must have been dropped
by that chick from Suddler’s Pub last night
when she ran out laughing about 1am. I heard the store door

swing open again, and saw the shadow hover behind me, felt the divine
on my head and heard Him say, “You’ve seen me now,
you know how this ends,” and felt a simmering leave my chest
and finally, just like my dream, the white light came,
and the Earth was taken back by its son.


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