Rubber Tire Prayer

On the way to brother's funeral I prayed so hard that red lights bled into green I prayed not for the seeds of his soul to root in the merciful soil of heaven Mostly I prayed not to get a flat tire it would have killed me to not arrive on time. A five-mile drive from a yellow motel to the foot of a flat stone, An angel swept nail and glass away from my salted path and on to a slab called alone. Aside his grave I played Bob Seger songs I played them until recognizable arrived.