thunderhead

they probably think it's raining  
somewhere far from here  
by now you and i know there's no comfort in shelter  
when the thunder doesn't come tied in convenient 9-5 bow.  
 
i drowned for the (i-lost-count) time in a bottle of solace this week  
(it doubles as absolution on sundays)  
while penning his last words on an ad for replacement monel types needed to fill an emptying conveyer.  
 
maybe i'll send it off. maybe we'll meet when she's older, and i'm too far gone to regale.  
 
 
green and red for miles  
like a damned christmas tree bleeding onto everything in one form or another
(sometimes i wish it really were instead of sobering reality)  
before the light fades earlier and earlier, days growing shorter.  
 
i'm not sure which is worse.  
 
 
anyway  
i tucked the last postcard she sent under his hands before they shut the lid.  
 
 
they'll be sporting dioxin orange on the runway next fall.