what is death? a
middle-aged man
in a volvo, collecting
payments and
favors?
i met him once on
his road trip from
new york to
california. i imagined
death streaking across
america, the way the
ground shakes and
swallows its people.
i didn't ask him anything.
i was afraid of his answers
but he keeps files on every
living being and sorts through
them when he gets bored,
picking people off like flies.
i figured he had heard
about the likes of me
before.
is death the object of a
mid-life crisis for a god
who got a little too
close to the sun and
got his feelings hurt?
maybe that is the
answer after
all.
he left me at a truck stop
off the interstate
in anniston, alabama.
i didn't catch his name,
but i think we'll be
introduced again
real soon.