Flames
We act as if our hearts
will burn forever.
So why do people die,
snuffed out like cigarettes in the rain?
The one
who scratched a scab on his neck
while waiting in line for meds,
dragging his muddy pant legs.
How many times have we talked
about jaywalking?
Yet there he was,
run over like some insect
by a speeding car.
We moved in on the same day,
saying things like
“This is just a transitional place.”
It's been thirteen years,
and I guess he won't be moving
to his dream apartment.
I can't say I liked him,
or knew him very well.
I can only testify
I've not witnessed anything
that would bar him
from heaven's gates.
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