Lost and Found in the Afterlife
I own a T-shirt with bullet holes. I picked it up at a Thrift Store.
It's not easy wearing a dead man's clothes.
There is one hole in the heart, the other in the chest bone.
I hope to go to heaven, then I'll return the dead man's shirt. Wave down a punk saint, ask if they know a Dead Cool Cat who prays for his old clothes.
If he's down in hell, I estimate I can find him just as well.
An afterlife, who's to know? An eternal journey? Or the walk of a nothing man?
For now it's summertime. An air conditioned shirt with bullet holes suits me fine. It matches my blue jeans ripped and torn at the knees.
Poems of the Week by Robin, Julian and Frank
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