Conversation in the Kitchen
I’m sitting at the kitchen table,
wearing nothing but a pair of boxers,
when God walks in and asks to speak
to my business manager, who suddenly appears.
It seems He’s got a proposition, but from what
I can gather of the ensuing conversation,
it involves us giving up a great deal of control.
Soon it occurs to me that I am intruding,
and I excuse myself. These conversations
always unsettle me. Besides, it’s really not my place.
I move to the living room and glance out the window,
where I notice the neighbor’s two-year old
has managed to get behind the wheel of their
silver sports car and somehow shifted it
into neutral, allowing it to coast down
their driveway. It is heading towards the intersection.
I yell something into the kitchen but the conversation
out there has apparently become heated
and my words become lost in the argument.
And so with equal measures of fear and disgust,
I run out to save the child myself.
By myself. Naked. Except for the boxers.
I am chagrined to hear laughter
coming from the kitchen.
.
You never fail to delight me, Rainey.