Learning to Lean Back on Living

 

Of gods and gravediggers and thunderbird wine

The first man I witnessed die
stepped too close to the white line
and bounced off three carloads
of excited tourists
returning from Disney World

A dull finish
on anonymous headlights

I was embarrassed for the body
of loose gravel, and bloody asphalt,
half covered by the unfamiliar
comfort of a blanket

Pupils fixed and dilated
blood swimming through the neck
lacking a heart to return to

In the warm night air
the aroma of ripe Florida fruit
mixed with magnolia blossoms

the transient’s last yawn
condensed on a stop sign
a mile down the road

where Tir, god of fatal accidents
and the gravedigger,
pass around a bottle
of thunderbird wine

 

Learning to Lean Back on Living now available in Amazon and Kindle

 

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