THE JUNK MAN
I AM glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living:
When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose
And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time from hour to hour
And people around the house joke about what a bum clock it is,
How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives his wagon
Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and says:
"You don't belong here, You gotta come Along with me,"
How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the
Junk Man close around it and carry it away.
I was looking for pictures of death on the internet and they are all ugly. The grim reaper, gothic chicks with stringy hair, skeletons in long robes...
Is death ugly or have we simply become too frightened of the unknown to even allow ourselves to think about it?
When my grandfather died I went to the funeral home with my mother, aunt, sister and cousin and I looked at my grandfather's face. he looked like he was sleeping, except he wasn't snoring- my grandfather snored like a fog horn- that's how I knew it was something more permanent. Papa moved to another home where he is able to do all the things that he wants to do- where age isn't an issue. I know these things- my mind sings them to me like lullabye, luring me to a calm peaceful numbness- but my heart still wished I could put my arms around him and feel his body, like a great strong tree trunk, and his branches reaching up to heaven.