Molehill

A comment or two

and again a million minutes but

it's just a sweltering summer in Alabama

where people will go on living

assuming that's enough

and may or may not

have a good excuse for God at the Pearly Gates

so where is he

but trying too hard maybe

to pass the time slick and sly so that

maybe it won't notice him for once with its toll

and let him pound IT

into the ground for once with

a rhythm not a mishmash of happiness

that may or may not

keep a smile on his face or

a care in his heart for those dying and

perhaps it's all just a molehill with

enough ink into a mountain of a poem.