One Every 24 #11

Luck Pusher

I wouldn't think I could get from doing dips off a 10th floor
and flat on my back drunk laid out in the street asking for a brake
test on some souped contraption pumped into the teen neon dash
play at cool; from the jealous kick in the head or stumble down
pass out, my blunt shoulder nosing in for the extra hit
the slur, the nod, the itch, the need for the next dumb luck
to this moment: the simple turning of a corner, my muling
the lawnmower around and readying for the next row only
to come upon her smile, my daughter, three, peeking over
the sill, out the living room window, calling to me above
the motor's grind, those words I see but can't hear, Hi, daddy!
Hi, daddy! as I mow down the grown past, think of the blow
the trips, the risks, the blurred mistakes, all middle aged
now with my headphones clamped over my thinning brain
the music cranked, the bluesman in mind swearing to me
I'm pushing my luck. Feels like my luck wanna change.
I'm pushing my luck. Feels like my luck wanna change.