So this guy, God, hands me a claim
ticket for a box with nothing in it.
He yawned and life went on.
“What kind of gift is this?”
I asked my parents, as if they
might know or even think about it.
“It’s a whatchamacallit.”
My father said staring at the TV.
“Go ask the Rabbi.”
My mother frowned and glared at me.
“What am I supposed to do with this
empty box?” I asked the Rabbi.
“Put something in it?”
He shrugged and scratched his head.
Profound, I thought. I hustled and
bustled and tried to fill it up.
By the time I got old the box was
as empty as when I began, the way
the stuff of life came and went.
I used it for my coffin.

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