Hearse
Driving Man
By
Mushroom Montoya
Grief
has been sitting in our driveway.
I hear his engine running.
His car's pistons vibrate
In my gut,
Shaking
tears
Out of my eyes
While
I do all I can
To
ignore the hearse driving man.
I go and stand outside
Our
front room door
Pointing
my accusing finger,
Go
away.
He lowers his black tinted window
Music
flows out to my ears,
Memory,
from the musical, Cats
Lets
me know
He isn't going anywhere.
I send a hammer smashing curse
To
slam and squash his cold-hearted hearse
Into
tiny, whiney, smithereens.
But
it is all to no avail.
My hammer is just a useless wish
Making
me want to yell and scream
At
my inability to make him disappear
And
stay away forever.
He turns up the volume
On
his cursed hearse’s radio
Playing
Josh Groban’s
To
Where You Are.
And then he flings a bloody hatchet
Out
of his dark hearse window
Smacking,
cutting, and whacking me
In
the middle of my chest.
I fall to my knees
Begging
please,
Oh
please!
Go
away!
I struggle to stand up.
I turn
around
And
walk inside.
I shut
the door.
But try as I might,
The
door won’t lock
I
kick it hard
Exploding
a bomb
Full of memories of
Me
and our son,
He
is in my cradling arms.
Me
rocking him slowly back to sleep.
And then I weep
Seeing
his body
Laying
the coffin
While
bagpipes blaze
Amazing Grace.
Grief revs his engine
I
hear it backfire,
Knocking
me down
Into
my own pool of tears.
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