He takes his burgundy Hummer out

Every few days

Rain or shine

And lovingly washes it using

Strokes that look like

Slow caresses along

Every deep colored surface

With the extra-soft chamois washing cloth

 

Along every chrome artifice

From the bottom of the bumpers

To the hub caps that could be eaten off of

The roll bars clear up on top

He misses nothing

His world reflects in that perfect shine

 

His wife isn't home much so

I can only assume that he does not

Share those love baths

With her as well

In the privacy of their

Master suite.

 

Perhaps, I consider, if he did

she might be home more often

OR

Conversely

because she is not home more

He had to get the Hummer

So he could slowly,

Lovingly wash the finish right off of it

Like a child wears the fur off

A favorite teddy bear

Today's topic on the talk radio show

Is "Death"

Death and Dying Today

In Oregon

 

I turn it off with a grimace

Instead choosing

some rock-n-roll

something with life in it

 

It's not that I'm in denial

About dying

It's ordained from the day we are born that we

Will someday die

I am all too aware of that fact with each

passing birthday

 

Today, though

one of those beautiful spring days

with a plum tree sprouting leaves

in my front yard

and a cocky cat that is not mine

waltzing through bright green grass

that will need to be mown soon

the blades impatiently reaching for

the sun

 

It's a day brimming with

life  and so I will

postpone confronting death to

another time.