Re My Next Talisman Poem by Daniel Brick

What shall I carry as my talisman
now that all the previous ones have
lost their magic. It just drained out
of them, one by one. Sometimes a puddle
of brown liquid was left behind, other times
it was wisps of smoke, quite acrid, made us
choke. And only once there was the smell of
something sweet and light. I can't recall
the details of refreshment and the leadership
issue is fuzzy, but it was just heaven on earth.
For a while... It's been four days - ninety-six
hours without a talisman, and, listen to me, it's
rough, rough. A man gets accustomed to his talisman,
and it's just not possible to be bereft this long.
I have a reputation to maintain, not the outer one!
that's your issue, I mean what makes up the chords
and fibers inside. And I am both the accused and
the judge. There is no clear exit for me. So you see,
right? You s-e-e... you must be vigilant,
I must bebe resolute, we must be together in this...
I remember - but memories won't help - still I remember
a talisman from my grandmother, her simple black-bead rosary
was warm when I held it. Of course, it must have been, you know,
on a window ledge and the sun warmed it. It couldn't have been her touch that warmed me. Of course not. But still....