Paul cracked two eggs into a skillet.
He broke both yokes.
He considered wearing only a star-spangled tie
and nothing else.
It was too cold for such silliness.
His objection had nothing to do with his love handles.
Paul realized his life is in the middle
of a horrible accident that ends in explosions.
His smart phone glass radiated cracks.
That was seven mirrors worth of bad luck.
Last week he removed the gold in his teeth
for beer money on Two-for Tuesdays.
Paul worked cataloguing the world’s sins.
His recent favorite was Wrath.
Even though he watched The Great Escape
fifty-one times, he identified
with characters who got recaptured
or gunned down after a chase scene.
Long ago he stopped trying
to let his life follow God’s plan.
He’d seen the blue prints.
He was a nested egg swallowed whole by a snake.
Paul decided to live like the walking dead.
This allowed him to throw away his cares.
His cares were plucked by a drunken violinist
stuck in a balcony playing background music.
The inevitable explosion came as he noted
Lori’s phone number in his black book.
His afterlife party released a broad assortment
of caged birds from world zoos.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney