So Many Men. By Ed Meek

As the sun rises, so many men

rise from bed each day 

longing for death.

As we brush our teeth

  and spit in the sink,

we know death hides like a secret 

in the pills behind the mirror.

And death shows his face 

when we clean our guns,

the bullets--messengers 

always ready to deliver the mail,

an announcement written in lead.

After dinner we reach for death

who floats in bottles sitting in the cupboard

waiting to be downed in shots.

And death drives our car at night,

half-asleep at the wheel,

gas pedal to the floor, lights off.

We like to keep death close by as we age

and wonder why we’re still here.

Long after the sun goes down we close our eyes

and dance with death in our dreams.

My new book, High Tide, is coming out this summer. I've had poems recently in Into the Void, Constellations, The Sun.