To Soon Was My Bad Luck Poem by James McLain

With each new day and soon to soon
night comes
it's not the rain you hear.
Yesterday is gone the day before.

Leather straps the razor it is loud
upon the cheeks
and how the flesh can find no space
what with loud moans.

Inside the womb through filtered light
around the water is
how I am first and why the others last
I feel a hand.

Where I'm not the other is to where I am
it is a door slammed shut to where I can not go
I'm to old to stoop where others sit then stand
and when I leave the other comes
my luck was never like it should have been
nor will it be like once before.