Overgrowth
I imagine heaven is like a push pit at a ska concert.
The time she stayed for dinner.
The time I got a third chance
When I didn’t deserve a first one,
And I polished my bronze medal
Until it was gold.
I’m a fossil and an archaeologist;
I’m constantly digging myself out of holes
Trying to figure out my sleeping parts.
I haven’t seen my mirror in months.
I now must mow my mustache.
I head to the shed to get hedge clippers to trim my hair.
The weed whacker edges my beard.
I’ve had a heavy hour of sleep to run on
And I ran marathons.
These bags under my eyes could carry
All your groceries
With the eggs at the bottom without
The shells cracking
Because they have carried so much more already,
And I am still intact.
I am the damaged goods on the markdown rack;
Take me home with you.
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