I step over the line and find myself staring
at a man I used to be. Looking back I wonder
how many times I’ve been shot down
only to get back up and start all over again.
I used to tell people I’m a cat with nine lives
but wasn’t exactly sure which one I was living.
If recollection serves me right I went through
a number of them before reaching the age of 21
but damn that seems like yesterday and/or a
century ago. Forgive me as I reminisce in the middle
of a poem and try to undo my misremembering.
So many things have changed and neither for better
nor for worse. It’s like everything happening these
days is exactly as planned. And all the mass killings
are nothing more than the grand design absurdly
put in place by a God who has long ago headed
for the hills and waits patiently for everything to burn.
august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved