Coloring Outside the Lines
The sky darkens to the ace of spades.
I drink coffee as thick as tar
while the tires whine on the road,
headlights carve a light
into the cave of a country night.
Tomorrow is the funeral, her bruises will be covered
by the mortician’s powder. I can’t find the flower
of her favorite color, it doesn’t exist. Dark purple roses
will have to grace her coffin. The thunderheads will blossom
and spill rain on the raven sitting on the steeple.
Third Wednesday
Spring 2018
