Rubber Tire Prayer
On the way to my brother's funeral
I prayed for the seeds of his soul
to root in the merciful soil of heaven.
Mostly I prayed not to get a flat tire.
It would have killed me to not arrive on time.
A five-mile drive from a yellowing motel
to the foot of a flat stone,
Thank God both nail and glass
away from my salted path.
Aside his grave I played Bob Seger songs
Then a Holyman wearing dark glasses
recited a bunch of sweet words from a harsh book.
He did a fine job for being a stranger.
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