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Poetry 3

[2017]

Cattle prods couldn't keep me from you

or your fifty-two shoes 

that you wear to keep your sole from tearing

On Tuesday we shared the news of your passing

I was harassed by shaven crows and ravens

Rows of people flocked down the pews

with laser sights pointed at various heights on the whiteboard

The black screen flickered images of a better time

followed by a worse time

followed by a better time

followed by worse

I saw your body in the hearse but my eyes couldn't cry

though the rest of my shook

The book you wrote is my only memory

of days gone by

The cleaver in your wrist separated fact from fiction

"Listen, listen," you told the tailor,

"I stole gum from a seventh-grader.

I steal now, I'll steal later.

I'll steal time and glue it to the refrigerator."

Five-to-nine, it was a job for rummagers and mobs

and those who nick socks 

can kick rocks 

all the way to hell