Wednesday, April 22, 2020

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.

1 comment:

WORSE THAN COCK BLOCK by George Schaefer

The bell rings so someone bought the bar a round. You look up  to politely acknowledge the kind stranger. You have another shot You go with ...