A poem

My veins clogged with sugar and fat,
who is that?
Looking in my direction.
I pant from increasing my pace
his face looks wild.
Lungs bursting from smoke and grime
is it my time?

I will repent, become an apostle Lord
if you spare me a day.
Suddenly the sun breaks through cloud
the man brushes by me.

Oh, was I too hasty? I reward myself
with pastry, black coffee.
Who will know? I withdraw my offer
to the heavens.

Let me sit on this bench, catch my breath
don’t fear death, until you see him, I guess.

Apostle? perhaps tomorrow if it is fine
or perhaps the world may end, anyway.

Chris