Friday, April 13, 2012


I know the actual poem is all about God and death and stuff. The Unitarian Universalist church that my family used to go to - the one that took us in after our synagogue kicked us out (long story) - used to read it on Christmas. However, something about the closing lines always struck me as a little sad, and a little sinister. Perhaps Robert Frost meant to say something about life, death, and the soul, but what I always imagined was something a little more like this:

By Mark L. S. Stone

I didn't think that the bloodstains would do any harm the motel’s hideous goldenrod bedspread, so I just sat down. I didn’t have the energy to change any of my bandages, but it was good to just sit. 

"How long has it been?" my reflection in the dark TV screen asked. “That nap in the semi doesn’t count and neither does that half hour sacked out in the MUNI station.” 

I shrugged. “Who cares? I have promises to keep.” 

My reflection in the TV laughed. “And miles to go before you sleep.” 

Then, I heard the sound of gunfire.

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