The Coach said not to.
He said simply,
“When it comes up over the hill,
just don’t do it guys,
don’t do it.”
Now you’re wondering where the Camaro is.
Why did it go away?
Why has it not come back around the corner?
But the sun knew the desert well.
The damn desert goes on and on,
and well,
the desert knows the sun.
These are not really consolations for you.
I’m sorry.
The Coach entered the bathroom
and there were tiles,
they were turquoise and plaster tiles,
and he said clearly,
“get me out of here”.
Then
we watched them throw tiles at Coach’s
lifeless body.
The sunrise was beautiful as we wept
and raised our crusty eyes with spatial baptisms.
We wondered why they would do that to our Coach.
We’d been through so much with that guy,
even the Petroleum Wars
where he kept it tuned to AM 1280
and we hid underground.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
novamartinpoetry.com 