Witness

drops of dirty water drip drop from a rusty sprinkler onto an unused fire extinguisher, glistening off of gleaming red. i would swear that there would be more time for dreaming instead of all this screaming... who is that?! we should drown that freak... but then i think that maybe sounds like me... i would swear that i was not on fire when all my hair is burned off and my skin is withered and blistered... how many lies can a man tell before he has earned his place in hell? is it enough when he lies about love? or is his seat safe when he lies about who he hates? it does not matter what the preacher used to call it; he would trade his legs, now numb & scalded for just a little breeze, a bare whisper of a wind on crisped and singed skin... here, at the end. and he realizes that what they say is true, as his life flashes by as subtle as smothering smoke, swaying past watering eyes. he will miss his wife and their bed and seeing another day... he thinks of how much he has to confess but knows no one wants to listen to the dead anyway.

7.26.2006