Nothing to see, look for yourself,
Something the raccoons dragged
Halfway across the parking lot
Before ditching it in a half-lit alleyway
Leading to the only bakery that's
Supposedly open twenty-four-seven.
Oh, that's my heart by the way.
No, don't touch it, that would be rude.
Oh, and here come the fire trucks,
And the miniature fire trucks that
I used to play with when I was a boy,
They're coming along for the ride.
Old women are folding flags in honor
Of me, tonight. Tonight they stitch
Together promises and keep you
In their prayers. I keep you in my poems
But I think that makes it worse,
You can't drown a sorrow in the public eye.
No comments:
Post a Comment