you’re on the edge of the Grand Canyon in day’s first purplish light,
alone you stand heavy as iron, bound by aches in this sixty year old body,
coffee, Prozac and a good woman won’t save or stop you now as you
picture the step off the cliff’s top and the long free scary swoop downwards.
ignoring the impact on others is the only way to do this,
you erase their horrific reactions to the news you’ve killed yourself,
as you say your last goodbyes to your life, its little lies, self pity and glories,
out of the early bright shine a blonde with killer legs and blue eyes men
would die for, walks up and asks you the time.
two hours later in Flagstaff, the blueberry pie alamode tastes sweet so
delicious so fine, goes down just right with these two smiles and big black
steaming mugs of coffee.
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