Explaining My Premature Death To God, Maturely
I had gone to this spot to pray
on a mid-afternoon street in the city
so busy the cars rarely make time to drive
as they sit for hours and hours on end
where I got the vague sense of familiarity
commonly experienced cloud-watching
when you see a single cloud, all alone,
way way up in the endless sky you just know
is about to change forms from a beach-ball
to an elephant then into an elephant balancing
a beach-ball at the tip of its trunk
before the sun swallows the whole dang circus whole
right before a thunderstorm rolls in
to remind you that without a dang umbrella
- of potential spots you could have come to -
this particular spot is good a pick as any;
so I sat down on the spot and crossed my legs
like a proud Native American
(or disgusting American hippie, depending)
pulling a squished ham sandwich bleeding
mayo and mustard into its proper plastic body bag
from my back-hip pocket and in one bite
swallowed the whole dang thing whole just in time
for the 2:30pm metro bus to repay the favor
to my forehead, which does feel better, thanks, God,
but you’re an a-hole for even asking.
5/28
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment