The Candle

The Candle


all religions seem to know this:
we are
eternal

still
I sometimes fantasize about
death
usually as a way to get back at those I
love
for not loving me
the way I want them to

this time is no exception
climbing onto my bicycle
in loose jean shorts
and an old T-shirt
my wife
still
explaining to me how unhappy she is
I ask her
is this how you want to spend your
time with me?
then ride off
up that treacherous hill with no
shoulder
up to Highway 9

we live on Animal Farm
their howls phase
shift as they gun past
four wheels good! two wheels bad!
it must take an impressive act of will
for them not to twitch
just a little
and grind me beneath their machines

I heard a plant has evolved along some
highways
that can breathe carbon monoxide

along the shoulder ahead of me
I spy
fresh flowers
a candle burning in a glass jar
a homemade cross
and silver helium balloons

I picture a young woman
in my mind
I don’t know why

did it happen recently? is this the
anniversary?
her birthday?

two cars are parked at the scene
people milling around
a woman searches for something
on the green hillside
ripe blackberries?

I arc around
and they all watch me as I pass

was she killed out riding her bicycle?

after some seafood dip and two icy
pints of Guinness
I pedal back
balls aching
from a saddle sculpted for cycling
shorts
the people are gone

from the opposite side of the highway
I watch the candle
flicker and glow
as the sun
dips below the horizon
then I freefall
back
down
the hill
before easing on the brakes

I can’t go
yet

I still need to write a thousand
immortal poems
for my wife to discover

enough to cause the world
sorrow
for years to come