It's what we do

I refuse to sleep on road trips

in case the car goes rogue

and there’s time to pull the handle

                                and throw myself to safety.

I’ll play those odds

though keeping alive

means getting old

and laying friends to rest,

though keeping alive

means further scars along

the spirit flesh of the heart.

It’s what we do.

We take the blows

for spaces between the blows

lending chances to laugh with mates,

to kiss a lover,

to read a quote or two.

Not much else. It’s bittersweet, really,

               

                but worth it.

Delight,

at junctures in every breath,

walks the gallows

but hangmen take sickies too.

It’s bittersweet

but we keep ourselves alive for little else.

It’s worth it though.

I don’t know why

but it is.