draft epitaph
Sunday, May 19th, 2013Father, husband, son,
scoundrel, drunk, beggar, drifter,
human. Rest in peace.
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Father, husband, son,
scoundrel, drunk, beggar, drifter,
human. Rest in peace.
• • •
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The kitchen floor still
has rings where their supper bowls
held their attention.
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Piles of merchandise
wait to be adopted, then
thrown in the garbage.
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Beneath the hard shell,
a faint ticking could be heard
whenever she smiled.
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A heart calls out for
a twin, one that lubs while the
other dubs. Lub-dub.
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Silence. A rushing
of waves. The moan of a train
whistle. Then, silence.
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This fall’s lineup will
make audiences laugh, cry
unlike latest crop.
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The gentleman with
the unruly mane took his
seat, while the rest jawed.
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The kitchen looked as
if a chef had hit it with
a flour grenade.
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Keep those balls in the
air. Make it seem easy. Don’t
look away too long.
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I am weak, but she
makes me strong. I am confused,
but she guides me through.
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The wind wouldn’t quit.
Night fell in droplets, as they
huddled reading verse.
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A lone guitarist
plays for coffee and change to
crowds of day people.
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Institution of
higher learning rewards good
dogs with free boarding.
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Rows wind through the dirt.
Squirrels tear through the rows. Birds peck
at the black remains.
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