GloMag GloMagDecember2018 - Page 314

THE NEAT LITTLE WOODEN BOX I am afraid of being buried in neat little handmade boxes Build to perfection, satin lined wooden confines I am afraid of being left behind In the darkness of that narrow space With my body already refusing my commands I don't want my spirit clamped by rigor motis I am afraid of straining to hear the last footfall Of the well-polished shoes of my loved ones Walking away without a backward glance Dwindling into the creaks of my wooden boarding 314