Endgame

You called often, that cold February day,

           you called to let me know

you were ready to ride my fabled steel pony.

Mounted up, you said, like a tried-and-true wrangler,

           riding through a gallery of the past

           with no hope for a future.

You rode that pony hard, right to the edge of the abyss,

            turning, you let me know,

                     at

                       that

                          last

                             possible

                                moment

                                   in

                                       time

the taste of cold, oily metal

             fresh in your mouth,

                           you

rode away, leaving that decision for another day:

only I was behind you, like that old-West marshal with his limping sidekick,

          dragged along by your lasso of love, dragged to the edge,

          not able to turn as you did, left staring into that endless

                                          loveless

                                                  void

                                                            .

I struggled to look back,

       only to see you riding

              toward that terrible viral flame

                       ...once again.