Not Jumping

The wanting to die dies hard.

Not that I really want to.

I can be happy –

taking the dog with me to the Post Office,

smelling the first wood fire of the season –

but when I cut back on the viaduct I freeze.

Well, I make it across,

but I have to talk to the dog

the whole way to keep

from stepping over the rail.

Or I’m driving to work,

singing Birds do it, bees do it

and a semi passes.

I have to clamp my hands tight

to keep from steering into that space under the trailer.

I’m pretty sure my car would fit.

People think I’m skittish,

afraid of heights and speeds and such,

but I’m telling you

that’s not exactly it.