Not Dying

 

Today’s a bad day.

There’s no good anyone can say.

Nothing has been really going at all our way—

 

But I’m

OK.

 

We don’t get to pray.

The sun lost its warmth from our ray.

We can only scowl beneath the moon-shine and bay—

 

But I’m

OK.

 

Folks yak, naught but “nay!”

Brutes, all, they surround us and bray.

They bleat loud in their judgment, lowing with dismay—

 

But I’m

OK.

 

We miss our old play.

You wait, I wait, far far away.

Softly beside yours my faint head I ache to lay—

 

But I’m

OK.

 

Our debt we must pay.

They’ll leave us the bill on a tray.

We’ll be stuck with the gross sum, not some trite copay—

 

But I’m

OK.

 

My head feels like clay.

My mouth and guts seem clogged with hay.

My heart pecks and flutters, bitter as a green jay—

 

But you’re

OK.

 

Our future can fray.

Tomorrow is in disarray.

This bridge of our lives has an alarming new sway—

 

But you’re

OK.

 

We don’t know the way.

I can’t think of what I should say.

Yet today has somehow still been another day—

 

Because we’re

OK.