Daily Street is narrow,
only wide enough for one
car to pass, when the
lineup occurs,
all up and down the way.

Should probably be named
a lane, rather than a street,
but whoever it was named
for might be offended in
the grave.

Written out it seems a modern
day Saint, which I guess could
be said of Jenkins, who's
place draws the cars.

He's always home,
but none come to visit him
on purpose. Day or night
the black Blazer comes out
when called, like
responding to some
silent unheard whistle.

Jenkins lives upstairs. He
keeps the place all slick cut
and manicured so it stands out
just fine, too fine, the simple
way to define that it's not a
house where someone lives,
even if Jenkins does live
upstairs.

Small town manners say
that when you travel down
Daily way, and the cars
are resting, waiting for the
black dressed, visit all dressed
up in best, survivors,
you go slow, so no one has
to go back inside too soon.

No chairs on the front porch,
just a sort of bench, where in
the evening it gets filled with
old people, resting from the steps,
or those with fears inside
that find it as a place
to hide from Jenkins'
honored guest.

"Down Daily Way" is
what people said 'round here.
It's always said in quiet
revered tones
sounding like
polished marble.

"Down Daily Way"
is what we say to
cover up the ever present,
daily way
of death.

Jenkins Funeral Home

12/20/2008

Posted on 12/20/2008
Copyright © 2024 Timothy Somers