“the dark hall”

I sank my soul in alcohol
to display in museums
beside other glass jars
so that little boys and girls
on grade school field trips
can witness the difference
between zygote, embryo, fetus,
and a grown man, almost thirty.
Besides the obvious changes
in size, maturation, hair, and
appearance of scars or moles
is the weight of a world
and the lightness of not yet learning.

If there is a heaven, I fully expect that place
to resemble a butcher shop deli
with a giant digital red display,
counting our bodies— as we all look down,
kick up some dirt and check our tickets
as we wait our turn, loving or hating
every minute.

narrative poem written on 09-26-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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