My friend Shira

whose name means song and legs mean trouble

wrote a lovesong to God,

hoping He’d buy her redemption

but instead He bought her a sandwich

from the central bus station,

salmon on whole wheat no cucumbers.

So

I sat with her on the top of the nearest mountain

flashlight in my mouth, rock in my shoe

and watched the buses run later than they’re scheduled to,

hoping my epitaph would read

“She might’ve

She might’ve

She might’ve been wrong”.