He's off,
not off as in off awfully off
just off to work.,
but
be wary of the shadows out there
they follow me everywhere
especially during the sunlit
hours.

I'm not unhinged
To consider gates,
And which side I'm on;
Who's allowed in, or out.
If a gate's open,
Do we rush or seep in?
Uncle Frank's gate leads to his plush meadow.
That's how I envision the Pearly Gates
With a slight squeak as they slowly close
On all the lies outside;
Souls sticking a foot between the gate and the post
While banging on the bars.
But the toes don't lie.

swish, goes the scraps into the trees
long and gone,
up to your knees

wrists twist, teeth clacks
snapping in dissonant
feelings of deepened anxiety

ropes of gum collect, spillage
springs from the lever, hurtling, slicing through the darkened sky
a second ticking post - (tiny fist smacking the dusty rusty button)

creaks of its broken joints drift in the air
"beep"
sings its sputtering e-battery, weakly
slowly, staggering
into the sleeping gathering arms of a mother
her broken form splayed crookedly within
the web of glistening pink

The palms sit tall
stand long
speak softly
sing clearly
search deep and wide
sway in all winds
but never complain
never seek shelter.
They are there to be found
and to shade her
and all who gather to hear her wisdom
and to taste the colour of it.