Wild Rose Goes Shopping for a Coffin
Not the one with airplanes painted on it.
Though it was fun to climb inside and pretend
she was the pilot, passing out barf bags to imaginary corpses.
Not the bamboo one, too bamboo-ey.
Not the willow one lined with wool. It scratched her face
during her afternoon nap. The salesman really didn’t like
the whole nap thing, but Wild Rose just invited him in to join her.
Not the sixteen-gauge stainless steel with hermetic seals.
Sure it looked durable, but when she danced in it,
it made such a racket, and not the kind of racket she liked.
The mahogany, too somber. And the blue and white veneer
reminded her of her Holly Hobby lunchbox from second grade.
Well, she told the salesman, there’s nothing here for me.
Stepping out into the sharp autumn wind, she’d never felt so alive.