For Transgressions About to Be Imagined

by J. J. Steinfeld

In the middle of a conversation

in the centre of a barroom

at the mid-point of a glass of beer

I started to wonder aloud

in fright and fearful perplexity

when is the instant

at which young ends

and old begins

where is the place

at which hope finishes

and hopelessness expands

what is the amount

at which you would consider

selling your soul

anything less

principle and idealism

could still be gripped.

Everyone has their price,

a drinker a table away claims.

Everyone has a darkness

that can darken love and friendship,

the drinker says with mouth shut

like a drunken ventriloquist

showing off for a stranger on the street.

The conversation ends

I finish my beer

last call is shouted

and I wonder if it is too late

to learn new meanings

for young and old

hope and hopelessness

to beg for forgiveness

for transgressions

about to be imagined.