Thousands of people are killing each other today.
My wife is sitting in the patio chair,
The morning dew dripping on her
From a frond above her head.
A butterfly drifts aimlessly.
The sun brightens the sun nailed
To an old rotted tree.
Strains of “Oh Jude” insinuate themselves
On the peace of our little fenced garden.
“Take a sad song and make it better.”
She is dying from brain cancer
Still hoping for a miracle,
Her belief in a god long gone,
Her faith in the Beetles still surviving.
JM
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