Life hurts
I waved my hand
Picking up a long-handled shovel,
I turned back. There was no blood on it,
And it looked harmless enough laying there all clean and bright.
Burying my face in the iron-grey hair,
I cried and begged god
Not to let my grandfather die.
I had the Frisco Railroad on my left,
And the Illinois river on my left.
On one occasion I found
A beautiful knife stuck in the bark of a sycamore tree, forgotten by a careless fisherman.
The cut grew so big I could’ve laid down on it.
I couldn’t wait any longer.