Extravagance

Extravagance

Bill Ayres

Luke 15:11-32 

You say my old man jumped from his chair, 
leapt from the porch, 
lost a sandal sprinting through our neighbor’s yard 
toward someone too skinny and sunburnt to actually be me. 

Rehearsing what I’d say 
about the money I took and spent, 
about how I ended up feeding pigs, how I’d come to beg for work, 
I didn’t see him coming. 

Before I reached our street he crashed into me, hugged me tight. 
I felt his beard against my neck, 
heard his breath—wheezing laughter. 
He hushed my apologies, dragged me home. 

I’m clean, dressed up. 
There’s roast beef on my plate, 
wine in my glass. 
There are friends around me. 

Shoes squeeze toes I stubbed against rocks 
when, stumbling home, I grew too tired to lift my feet, 
but I dance anyway, 
sing along with the music. 

That doesn’t mean my eye’s not on the door. 
Grateful as I am to be here, celebrating 
--and God knows I love to eat and drink-- 
my brother is out back. 
How long will he refuse to join us, 
telling our dad I wasted his money on whores, 
asking when does he get to have a good time? 

It won’t be much of a party, not really, 
until he comes in and sits down. 

---

Bill Ayres
Poet & Bookstore Worker

Bill is working in his seventh bookstore. His poems have appeared recently in Plainsongs, The Windhover, Bird’s Thumb, and the Anglican Theological Review.

Photography by Andres Molina