Benediction

Words and Music Copyright 1999 Robert Edgar

1:53

I've seen it.

The guy leans on a timing meter and casts a song into the windswept afternoon.

He's singing to pick up his dustpan thoughts.

He's singing to make sense.

He's singing to help get deeper into you.

He's singing to work you deeper into him.

Greasy hands scribble verses on the back of an oily Sonoco charge slip.

Because writing songs is throwing pennies at the wall.

Because singing his soul kills worthless gods.

Because taking a stand calls your name.

Because choosing a scale can make the weather change.

Because he needs the sting and the comfort you bring.

He sits on a scarred tire, gasoline fumes pollute his nose.

Clouds arrange themselves across a deep gray test pattern.

Birds mark his coca-cola, an m&m wrapper is dragged

into a Klinebottle form by redeployed army ants.

He throws sawdust on a puddle of oil,

imagining a hurricane blasting towns onto a dark ocean

while seagulls circle the station then tilt to fly inland.

An a.m. radio crackles and updates the position of the storm's eye.

You've got a ‘64 Rambler and you'll stop by.

You'll see if he will ride away with you.

You'll see if he'll close up shop.

You'll see if he intends to stick this one out.

You'll see if the two of you will escape Eden together,

heading into the ragged clouds and horizontal rain,

driving past wooden shacks that won't be there when you return,

heading to the safety of the mainland,

or you'll see if he won't.