MAYBE JUST DEATH
I've not got the strength of the gift
of this heart, making things run, just
like trains run on time. It doesn't work
that way here. My mind instead is
audacious and errant and bold. I
follow no rules to be told.
Here on the domino table the men
play chess : it's another game entire
and I don't know why they do.
Mix it up. One game or another -
there are others too. A dollar goes
down, dice, checkers, and the timer.
The laughing lady walks by. I've
seen her a hundred times; stupid as
all get out, her sunken cheeks and
haggard face remind me of nothing
good. Maybe just Death, with a
Mother's Day card in hand.