Inevitable

The caterpillar on my toothbrush
no longer than a waterdrop
arches itself so beautifully
I suddenly forget all about
pepper spray.

On the crest of the green hill
overlooking the city
a column of oaks
stand watchful,
waiting for
the inevitable glory.
They’ve been waiting
a very long time.

I know a good woman
who turned 100 yesterday.
She tells me, “Heaven
is overbooked.
I have to wait in line.”
She tells me that
my work is important.
“Just love your wife,” she says.
“Bake her a pie.”
She is younger than I.