Beloved, the Dealer Has Dealt (Aidan Lee)

A ghazal

In the palace of neon and nylon, slot machines churn and bleat
Old man repeats, ‘I like to be around people’ and lifts a quivering hand.

Beneath lights flashing like swords he races after scraps of flesh
A boy in Tikrit cups a knuckle, an earlobe, makes a haven of his small hand.

Morning shadows of monkeys parade across the wall
Then a stealthy retreat, half-eaten jackfruit falls discarded from sly hands.

Torso arches in a sinuous twist; feet tap more persistent than rain
Dance dictated by the frantic heartbeat of two clapping hands.

Head tipped toward the sky, lay full-length on the curve of the earth
Feel its brown heat clenched in your spine and your hand.

Orange flames of a slow-burning kiln, smoldering dragon in the woods
Thick smoke it secretes as clay spins smooth in a slippery hand.

Barnacles open wide dotting rocks like pores in a scorched cheek
Water splashes in a wet sheet over my grasping hand.

Swaddled in robes of ochre, young monk walks a city street
Bare feet on asphalt, drum slung across his chest steadied with a brown hand.

Look at the horizon every day, he advised me though he later forgot.
You’ll know where to meet without my guiding hand.

How many months can you deny you’re a liar, a cheat?
A knowing friend asked, “When you go out don’t you want to hold his hand?”

Flies circle in a halo near the red painting on a red wall.
Beloved, the dealer has dealt now, now play your hand.