I’ve been seeing skeletons in front yards

There’s one in mine

And there’s a recurring thought I can’t discard

As I put one step in front of the next

I can’t outrun them no matter how much I keep tryin’

Running down Granby Street, I hear my own breath

And see a skeleton-horse with the rider’s head severed at the neck

The rider is a skeleton too

Then an eerie thing I wish weren’t true

The skeleton in my front yard kinda looks like me

It sits in the Adirondack chair

With a painted-on smile and glittery hair

The neighbor walking by didn’t get spooked till her eyes shifted from the skeleton to me

She let out a scream

Skeletons are in closets, so I’ve heard said

I’m ashamed to admit I kind-of like seeing them out

They’re a reminder that one day I’ll be dead

But I’m not afraid, there is an afterlife, I don’t doubt

And skeletons are a reminder of my anatomy class

Way back

Maybe we’re skeletons – with flesh for now

I think we’re better off in the front yards than in the closets

To be seen by neighbors and runners and clouds as they pass

To be bare, exposed – maybe there’s something there

Before our hefty frames becomes bits

I’m writing this from my front yard