The Big Sleep

I once read death is like deep sleep.
I once read in hard-boiled detective fiction
death is the Big Sleep.
If death is like deep sleep, every night
you have a rehearsal of your expiration.
I believe death is a continuation based on
the many near death experiences accounts.
But if it is only deep sleep and nothing more,
I’ve become perfectly okay with that.

Bob Boyd

Miss Mary

Folks called Mary Weatherton Miss Mary,
a beloved social worker who served the poor.

Throughout the years she helped thousands
find shelter, food, supportive programs.

She helped hundreds of homeless people
get off the streets and live better lives.

All of her humanitarian work, all of her kindness,
ended when a crazed homeless person

stabbed her multiple times in the chest
and ended her exceptional life.

I think to myself, where was the God
of Love in that?

Bob Boyd

Somewhere Little Mice Are Oblivious

Somewhere little mice are carrying on
merrily in cages,

running around having fun, playing
with each other.

Unknown to them, their lives are
ending soon

in the bellies of pet snakes, their
brief existence merely for food.

Maybe I shouldn’t be concerned
about that,

but the contrast of happy, carefree mice
being terrified and eaten

by snakes, disturbs me deeply.

Bob Boyd

Jesus Was Hugging Her

A little girl lies in a hospital bed,
wires hooked up all over her,
a breathing apparatus on her nose.

She looks barely alive, a pitiful
sight.

She can barely speak … until
she says, “Jesus is hugging me.”

Then she starts listing the
titles of various books in the Bible,

titles her mother says she
never knew of.

To me, this is miraculous, and
I believe it’s entirely true.

Bob Boyd