“Last Night on Earth”

Copper pine needles in puddles,
pondering another pumice moon—
while the oldest man
still alive
coughs, forgetting where he was.
This man, handsome as wine, questions why
his white terry bathrobe is laid out on bedspread
while he still lays naked between the doorframe,
unable to decide which room he might rather die.

Funny, he thinks,
how pine needles must first dry out
in order to look so radiant on rain.
He pulls himself up, admiring how the skin on his leg
stretches, drawing itself up, like a time lapse filmstrip
of a germinating avocado plant.

narrative poem written on 09-01-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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