Our Metaphors Outlast Our Souls

The ferryman would need a fleet
To handle just this one skirmish
In the long war of death on beasts
Who fancy themselves more than flesh,

I’m thinking as I browse headlines
Of old-fashioned print newspapers
On racks at the convenience store
Where I keep my distance in line.

And then, as I advance six steps
To the next appointed station,
My thoughts a clutter of Lucan,
Father’s Day, Summer Solstice, plagues,

Another thought pops up to ask
When the ferryman’s profession
First began, and when we began
Thinking of death as a crossing.

Who was the first person to live
Quietly, sedentarily,
Beside a stream too strong to swim,
Raft, pole, and rope at the ready?

Who was the first to suggest death
Was like trying to get somewhere?
Long ago. Nowhere. We’ll get there.
My turn up at the register.