Monday, March 18, 2024

CONGREGATING

 

The Angel of Death, having a rough night,

Was none too pleased to find Max

Attended by Thuisko, Tzontemoc, Hermes,

Maeve, Libitina, two of the Nameless Ones

And a banshee (A banshee of all things!

He hadn't seen one in years.) A wayoob

Was taking Max's pulse; the banshee,

Stirring something that kept changing color,

Looked willing to stir forever. Hermes,

One of the Nameless, Maeve and Libitina

Were playing cards; Hermes called

"Take a hand! Libitina's just playing

To be polite; she doesn't know the rules."

Friday, March 15, 2024

TALKING TO KIKO

 

I say "Dog,
"If I die and T. S. Eliot
Buries me in his garden
Will you dig me up again?"
(That T. S.! Always
Etherizing folk on tables
Or burying them in gardens)
"How deep we talking?"
Asks Kiko. "I am, after all,
A very small dog and
Easily distracted."

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

REVENANT

 

A ghost at 10:30 on a cold morning

Stands on the memory of

His left foot since he can no longer

Remember his right one clearly.

He thinks he was fond of it

But it's no use; he only manifestS

What he recalls precisely.

(It's fortunate he stared so much

In mirrors; he'd feel foolish with no nose.)

He hops off, stopping at corners, 

Waiting for lights to turn green

Though what harm could cars do him now?

Since he can't recall why he's come back

He begs forgiveness from everyone he sees

Who's wearing a hat; he forgives the hatless

Unless they also wear gloves in which case

He whispers "Some things cannot be forgiven!"



Monday, March 11, 2024

STATIONS

 

One morning the train to work was rerouted

No Plandome. No Great Neck. No Auburnadale

Nor Woodside, where all must change.

Tus there was and Merv, Samarcand, and Balkh and Bukhara.

The conductors promised we would eventually

Reach Penn Station but I detrained at Nishapur

Famous for its pots, its grapes and its wines and

For Omar Khayyam who wrote about them.

No one here speaks English and it seems to be

Only a few hundred years after the Hejira

Say, 1150 by my reckoning. I get by;

People here are used to lost men; we have our own

Burial association, a flag and a rousing anthem.

Friday, March 8, 2024

CHOICE

 

Great Aunt Mabel, who was thin and

As sharp as four needles

Married soft, kind-hearted Azie

This was fortunate. Had she chosen Joe,

My grandfather -- a  twice-bitten soul

Who reserved always the option

Of turning sideways and disappearing --

Great cities might now be dust and smoke.

Wednesday, March 6, 2024

VISITOR

 

Before she was a death spirit the banshee

Was a washerwoman so, as a professional,

She glanced at the hospital sheets on the bed

Where Max was taking his time dying. "Pfoo," she said 

(In Galitzianer Yiddish, though Max had, over the years. 

Picked up a fair amount of Gaelic) "a speckled hen

Would feel shame dying in such ill-washed sheets;

Wait you here -- I'll have a word with them in the laundry."

Monday, March 4, 2024

PSYCHOPOMP

 

Superbly fat and self-assured Old Mercury

Rarely flies now though the tiny wings

On his hat and soft-sided boots still function.

His days are spent looking after his investments

And his nights drinking with thieves. As part

Of his plea-bargain  he acts as a pro bono

Guide to Hell. For a fantastic fee, it's said,

He'll smuggle souls back to life, leaving them

At Charing Cross, with forged papers and car fare.