I close the door of my red brick shell
step outside and light a cigarette.
a slight october breeze rustles through the half dressed trees,
and aeolian chimes float through the night.
overhead honking geese
fly by in a tight arrow formation,
my thoughts started wandering, and somehow
the memory of the hearse that passed by me yesterday,entered my mind.
how it drove slowly up the hill
and from where i stood
it seemed as though it was ascending straight to heaven, as it disappeared
on the horizon between the buildings
and the blue sky.
and i watched and wondered, maybe, beyond the hills,
there is a highway to heaven
where the good ones take their last ride
in their last suit. with one of the saints,
St. Christopher for example
sitting in the drivers seat,
and an angel choir on the radio.
i supposed it might be a collective cab,
like the ones i experienced in morocco.
where they take on other guests.
with a nod and a halo.
and they all sit huddled together. small talking, dead but happy
that they are not sitting on a boat,
rowing down a burning river
with those terrible screams
tipping the ferryman.
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Submission Name: The Hearse
