i guess i’ll believe in Purgatory if/when i get there

hell well known
opulent somewhere housewives
“gorgeous and blond or other”
while mothers, fathers, children, elders
live the pain of earthquake and flood


only love may cross over

the poet pens in his lonely din
crying blood tears
many long years
light the candle now
cigarette in mouth or tray
he pauses to remember

it was a lovely day almost
and almost hard to remember
but now
the wave of grief is headed this way
time to lie my body down
go to sleep
and pray.