April 5/30
Jokingly, in an elevator
I called you Cain to my Abel
and when we hit bottom
you said that it wasn’t fair that I get to die
as you searched my blank face for deeper meaning
the door opened and we left
it on floor level
my voice is nothing more to you
than the sound of pebbles underfoot
on the way to the field. my wrist
you lead tightly, a new staff for shepherding
my brow, a plowshare
I hope you reap something the Lord will accept
this time.
