To Wake Up Dead on Easter

Those days-
when everything coalesces
into a series of weird events.

There’s a little Jesus in your pink egg.
There’s a church sign down the road
and today it inexplicably says:
“J TO THE C DID IT FOR ME-
HOLLER!”

You almost faint in Babies R’ Us
overwhelmed by plastic
and the flu.

Your furnace leaks carbon monoxide
but you cheat death again.

Your house has an emergency furnace transplant and
your wife dreams you are dead on the floor.

Who died? It feels like somebody did.
You just can’t remember who.

Babies R’ Us. . .
it’s just too much in there.

-This work is set to appear in Zygote in My Coffee #90

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Filed under poetry, published work

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