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Rubber Tire Prayer
On the way to brother's funeral
I prayed not 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,
An angel swept both nail and glass
away from my salted path
and on to a slab called alone.
Aside his grave I played Bob Seger songs
I played them until recognizable arrived.
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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