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I Thought I Heard The Angels Sing
Bill Stadick (bio)
Today I almost absalomed my head
While biking to the Kwik-Trip north of Main.
Why would so much of nature have us dead?
Why this proclivity to dole out pain?
By grace alone, I ducked in time to hear
My helmet scrape across the under-bark.
I know this doesn’t mean I’m in the clear.
I’ve read my Eliot, O dark dark dark
.
But I’ll take any break that comes my way,
Each non-malignancy and whoa-close call
Between right now and let’s call it a day.
If the ride must end, I’m predisposed to stall,
To stop my ears when I hear heavenly choirs,
To ask the bug-eyed reaper, where’s the fire?

 

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