The next time this flat lander
drives north to the Kingdom,
before I die and definitely
before you do,
I would appreciate the pleasure
of some friendly conversation with you,
if only to thank you for fine hours
I have spent reading the lives of your
so intricately etched country men,
your neighbors, those like my sister
Brenda and her deceased neighbor, Ruth,
whose razor mind brought quick wit
with sage advice to all conversations.
If the demise of both of us occurs
prior to the proposed conversation,
I offer the suggestion that we
find some shaded spot out of range
of noisy trumpets and angels songs
so we might hear ourselves think.
However,
(the worst case always being the most possible)
if I happen to end up in warmer places than you,
(the opposite situation rendered an
improbability given your connection to Gods own muses)
I would like to thank you now, in this missive,for
the joy you’ve given me.
This having to be sufficient, given the uncomfortable
aforementioned scene, unless
the introduction to the Book Of Job
is reality rather than fable,
whereby I might hitch a ride with Ol’ Scratch
and you and I might enjoy a conversation while
He and God babble on.