Will My Body Sink Or Float Poem by James McLain

the whiskey is gone,
the sun is too,
and the streets curl up like dead snakes.

I lean over the bathtub,
watch the water swallow itself,
wonder if it will take me the same way—
quick and indifferent.

men like me don't get eulogies,
just a barstool left empty,
a bartender who shrugs.

I light a cigarette,
watch the smoke crawl,
it drifts—never sinks, never drowns.

maybe that's the trick,
to burn and rise,
instead of waiting for the water to decide.