Spring 1997 • Vol. XIX No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1997 |

The Wake

Relaxing a bit on the steps Of a palatial funeral home, And now a couple of red-faced pallbearers, (Or whoever they are!) Want me to get lost--but where? In the movie theater there's a door Marked EXIT. Pink nail polish has spilled Over the western sky. There's a stage-lit gas pump on the corner And a plump pigeon Strutting in front of it. There's a floor mop and a bucket In the county courthouse, A boy and a girl hidden under a bed In the reformatory. There's the fellow about to be electrocuted Tomorrow morning, Who says his steak is overdone. Striped pants and butter gloves, I say, forget it.

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Relaxing a bit on the steps Of a palatial funeral home, And now a couple of red-faced pallbearers, (Or whoever they are!) Want me to get lost--but where? In the […]

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