The Road

I sit on the grassy bank. The wet blades
feel cold through my jeans. I toke
on the joint in my hand. It burns; I hold back
a cough. I think someone might see me.
Nobody comes.

The night stretches before me. A car passes
along the road ahead. Its engine disturbs
the silence. I put in my earphones and hit
shuffle. Metallica. I drop the burnt remains
and stand up. James Hetfield sings
about toking on a bad seed. The irony makes me
smile. I begin walking towards the road. I check
my watch. 21:11. I think about
my insignificance.
The mud squelches beneath
my feet. I reach tarmac and cross
the pavement.
There’s a bus coming. I step off
the curb. A horn cuts
through my music. It makes me wince.

I look into the two lights floating towards me.
They dance before my eyes.
It makes me laugh.
I feel Death kiss me gently and take my hand.