Death
It's a shopping mall fire-door
that we think is a short-cut.
A side escape
we have passed a thousand times
becomes a threshold.
Persons can abruptly disappear,
then the Universe
has to put them together again
from the smithereens of minor errors.
In our hearts we see our end
as an empty shopping cart
in a store on fire,
but no.
The chipmunk in the backyard
runs this way and that
but the hawk in a nearby tree
knows that this day
is just another exit.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment