The Final Wish of a Bus Mechanic
Near the end, his skin turned canary yellow.
His fingers were as thin as an elegant cigarette.
His blue gem eyes sank just below the waterline.
Above the bed was a picture of an empty crucifix.
Pointing in the general direction of his final breath.
A few nights before he passed, he asked for a beer.
I poured him one into a dark coffee mug.
The old bus mechanic lightly chuckled...
said he couldn't see the rising bubbles.
I re-poured into an elegant glass, fit for royalty.
In the half-light, the amber halos rose to meet his lips.
He never did take a sip.
I had broken the rules but granted a king a pauper's wish.
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