He watched the procession of dark colored cars

slowly moving across the asphalt.

The heat of the sun made vaporous streams of gas

lift from the soft black stone,

into the air,

like a prayer

to a higher power.

The mourners cried and laughed.

They fiddled with their ties and their hair,

as they nervously wondered how they looked,

and when their time would come.

Would the Church be filled with their friends?

Would they care,

wherever they were?

The priest pretended to know what he was talking about.

Everyone knew that he was as much in the dark

as they were.

Everyone was happy it wasn’t their time to be

in the coffin.

Everyone was sad that their friend was dead.

Everyone tried to remember the last time

they called his number

or visited him.

Everyone was glad they weren’t with him

at the end.

When it was time for the burial,

he walked in the sun

to a place in the soft grass

and prayed to whatever was up there,

that he would be ready

when his time was up.

Until then,

he vowed

to make the world sing,

and the flowers grow,

and the people laugh,

and the music lift

his spirits to heaven. Rickthinkingtwo