six drawers of the universe
filled with life he could not leave behind
twenty year commitment gone,
thick neck and morning lit face
parked up station wagon
silver leaf scars rusting
doors with rattling windows,
behind a marriage gone like perspiration,
a third from the sun creature
pushed into the office
low humbled
shoulders shrugged into body,
grasped that file cabinet
dragged it to the door lifting carpet tiles,
tailgate flipped open,
company property someone shouted
another mentioned 911,
all other lives abandoned
this was all he had,
one last look
eyes like roses on granite,
pulled away
smearing rubber traces,
freeway surrounded by suburban houses
urban outcrops to his canyon
that became a void,
cassette music kept the corpses away
those corpses of the past
that seem to claw and linger,
a siren
was it for him,
tailgate flipped lock busted
as file cabinet slid progressively out,
braking hard
it dropped on blacktop
engine stalled
a dead bronze beetle
car horns swarmed about,
grunting stood upright that grey oblong
last piece of life
scuffed and scraped,
small key on his chain unlocked top drawer
took out a warm shaken bottle of whiskey
and the gun he kept here since his wife
became afraid,
sucked in air
climbed on top and sat crosslegged,
heaven had shadows that would not conceal him
as he waited,
bullhorn call on gentle breeze
curved outline of the day a flat surface,
and a smile so human appeared
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