I Will Build You A Coffin

Cheap wine, Seinfeld reruns, leftover chicken from the town barbecue. The lack with which I live is the Lord a harder way, but at least it's the one I asked for. Remember growing up and hearing Dylan's Blood on the Tracks now and then at certain houses in Worthington? How essential it is to remember that children remember everything, one way or the other! Afternoon brightens right before dusk, and then the night falls very quick, like an experienced hangman handling a noose. Perhaps it does not matter when or where we profess our love. Me and my Ma drink room temperature gin, make fun of the crippled neighbor, and wait on the mail which never says anything new. Politely but a little annoyed I argue with the Lord - confused as always with His priorities and values - but wander away when He tries to explain. First the wedding, then the marriage, and then we meet the woman we love? Who cares if Pluto is a planet, so what if they find the Titanic. Trees fall all the time outside the range of our hearing, it's no use pretending we're clever. When you die, I will build you a coffin. In the interim, I am each breath when in the air before you - just after leaving your body - it turns to admire its origin.