Time Doesn’t Always Fly
by Mark Fleisher

The days crept by slowly
Some of us checked them off
on calendars from home
from car dealerships,
from banks, from churches

Others kept time in their heads
ask them how many days
often the reply creates in us
a mix of jealousy and admiration
for those dubbed short timers,
their days few before
returning to “The World”

The short timers included
my friend Rick, only sixteen
days remaining when a hunk
of hot metal sent him home
too early, his arrival greeted
not with joy but shrouds of sorrow
and those whom he loved,
and those who loved him
face days creeping by slowly



 

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