Serial Number

I’m excited for the prospect of the world’s
first haunted spaceship and what happens
when there’s ghosts without the gravity.

I followed the sign posts to a town called
blue pasture but quickly passed
because the people there were burning
different sections of their yards. As if the place
was made of fools and there was one
above them standing on the roof
of the cathedral with a silver colt revolver
in his hand.

The lake looked frozen thick enough
to cross it quick and save a little time,
and if it had to be I wasn’t scared
of falling. It isn’t true, what other people say
about themselves, or anyone of us
about anybody else.
The truth is we have steps to take
and things we hope will never break,
so just forget about that now,
and never worry.

They all will be returning soon
with heavy boats chock full of tortured souls,
and freezing workers mopping hallways
feeding fuel into the engine.
On the front bow there is only a serial number
because the naming of boats was too magical
for this place where people lie with every smile.

There is no shame in giving up
this silly game that hasn’t gotten anywhere
it should have. Let the moss cover the statue
completely if only to meet me halfway
between the meteor that’s falling from
the future where we haven’t learned
enough about the people in the present.

The glare through the glass of the windshield
doesn’t let me see who’s here for me,
but I’m positive it’s you, and I’ve been waiting
here for all these years to tell you,
that I saw you hanging on with just one hand
while with the other you were waving,
I’m assuming, at somebody in the distance.