Psalm 23

The big one.

The Lord is my narrative;
I shall not want
a different story,
turn of events,
outcomes
 or morning after.

I am lying.

God leads me
to a bridge.
The one I cross
to get to work.

A colleague greets me
bright and smiley
and waiting for me
to walk over 
this bridge
together.

I think, "God, what a metaphor."
This stupid bridge.
This stupid autumn morning.

We walk together
past the cafeteria 
smoke puffs 
out and smells like bacon,
English muffins toasted
with slabs of butter

You prepare a table for me.....

"My husband's an engineer,"
she tells me
and I tell her mine is, too
and we are off the bridge now
but we keep talking
about hurricane storm surge
hydraulics
PhDs.

"So hard," we say.
"Not for me," we agree.
"I mean, how could you even?" we laugh.

Maybe when our kids are older
Maybe we could
She tells me she knows a woman-
started her doctorate in her 50s
"Got her PhD before 60," she says.

"I guess I wouldn't mind that," I say. 
"I guess that sounds pretty fun," I say.
"Maybe someday," she says.
"Maybe someday," I say back.

A refrain
for the morning after.