Sunday Blood

I got a room early in the morning

Had to wake the girl up

She must have had a bedroom

Behind the office

Because she came out

Wearing a nightgown

I was still in my costume

But all she gave me

Was a raised eyebrow

And the keys to a room

On the second floor

As soon as I got through the door

I fell on the bed

And started to shake

It was like I’d been holding together

Until I knew

I could fall apart

Even glancing at the bedside clock

Felt like it happened

In slow motion

The clock said five fifty eight

On a Sunday

My joints felt like

They were going to snap

And the back of neck

Had a layer of sweat on it

That wouldn’t dry up

The pillows were cold

And they felt like aloe

Up against

The scar on my cheek

I hadn’t noticed

My feet throbbing

Until I stopped walking

Eleven miles from the spot

Where we performed

To the shabby motel

That looked sad enough

To die in

I bit my cheek

And wondered

Who was going to be

Wondering about me

Or who wasn’t

I wasn’t sure

Which one to hope for

Somehow even as exhausted as I was

I couldn’t get myself to sleep

Even after everything that happened

Something about Sunday’s

Meant being wide awake

There was no way

I could face

That broken sunlight

That finds its way

Into any place

Where it’s not welcome

So I pulled myself up

And inched slowly

Into the bathroom

Where I knew

The light would only send

Its last fragments

I sat down

On the gray tile

And tried not to hear the sound

Of the Midnight Trick

Two thousand people

All clapping

When I pushed my brother

And then that catch of breath

When they realized

Something was wrong

Somebody didn’t set the rope right

Somebody didn’t tie a knot

Somebody didn’t do their job

Somebody has blood on their hands

And I knew

It was Sunday blood

Because you don’t do a trick

At the beginning of a Sunday

We should have done it at eleven

Not given in

To the Vegas promoters

And the late-night crowds

Who weren’t going to make it

To church tomorrow

No way to explain to a brother

That you can’t give him a chance to apologize

That you can’t let him ask for a reason

That you can’t give him a reason

If he does ask

That sometimes

After a life of hearing

That he does the falls

Better than you do

That he sells it better

That he’s got more panache

More performance quality

More showmanship

More of everything

And nothing

That can be taught--

You see him reach for you

Knowing the net

Isn’t going to hold up

When he lands in it

And knowing that he’ll know

Long before that

Because you never miss him

When he grabs for you

He falls down

Into another day

And so did he die

And did you kill him

And how many rings

Around a sin

Before it makes it

Unforgivable?

There’s the applause

And then the catch

And then Sunday

The light marches into

The bathroom

And more of it gets in

Than you planned on

And there’s still

More coming