Comes through the open window
A sweet smoky smell
Reminds me
I have not eaten
It is late morning
And I hear the faint tinging
An incoming call
I hesitate to answer
Wanting no new news today
Somehow
The thought just hits me
That you are dead
Life has this way of culling
Like the owner of a herd
Picking through the mass of life
One, over the other
Too fat, too old, too sickly
The phone keeps ringing
Like some ever-present mooing
I turn off the phone
And consider Barbecue for lunch
No comments:
Post a Comment