Behind the mortuary van,
just a few vehicles behind,
I think of all that I’ve built,
and ever called my own.
The traffic is, as yet, slow.
It’s red at every intersection.
I’m enjoying this drive, buying,
and selling on my cell phone,
dealing in my own merchandise,
of my loves, hates and indifference.
I’m only trying to cheat Death,
when it’s call should come,
by staying engaged, my line busy.
I look up to see that I’m still driving.
Now, right behind, the mortuary van.