wind that wants to blow out all the flames
of/and our ever-changing roster of names
of candle wicks and ever-changing names
upon her hood
we place tea lights
and join in prayer
as day turns to night
purple dusk
swallowing grey smoke
boozy breath and
all we've ever known
and from that great grey cloud
there did come
a motorcade, a marching band
with fief and drums
the millionaire, his daughter
and all their fine fair guests
the full string quartet
and the rest of them
the performers.
oh, Volvo
oh how i miss you
how unfortunate
that you got used up like that
but i guess that's the point we all come to
and someday i'll be in your shoes -- or tires, rather
so when it comes time
don't send me out like that
i don't want a marching band
that's never been a part of my plan.