between the stop signs

no matter the friday,
no matter the flat tire,
there is always the last glass bottle
of coca-cola
waiting for us on the shelf of the corner store.
it doesn't have our name on it,
and that isn't how they stock the shelves;
which is how we know that God,
sneaks inside
minutes before we arrive,
and purchases all but one,
just to make us feel alive in the excitement
of knowing we'd made it just in time.

no matter the august,
no matter the i miss you,
i shuffle between the stop signs,
with a right jingling pocket;
as if the nickels and dimes
had organized a disco;
the way nickels and dimes do
when you've got too many in your pocket;
always,
to find that last coca-cola
always, with
twenty cents extra to spare,
to remind myself i'm already
half way there
to the next one.

no matter the winter,
no matter the i just want to hug you,
i drink every sip of
just cool enough,
to refresh today's has-beens from my bones,
as if all the emptiness inside me
were exactly twelve ounces;
truth is,
i'll take any reason to feel hopeful;
any hint to remind myself how simply wonderful you are;
any brightness to look heavenward,
and remember,
that god is good,
that she is lovely,
and coca-cola
is far too delicious to think about anything else.