Companion to immediately prior offering, “Hey, Hey, Hey, G. K.!”

*****

Recorded for (1:40): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/g4xvulaqd2h04fiberk8c/A-Posthumous-Parenthesis.mp3?rlkey=qom9fjf97wcnom76scit39s1c&st=4lkom7yj&dl=0

*****

A Posthumous Parenthesis

You’ll be happy when you’re dead
Tucked snug in your earthly bed
For at minimum you will
Not have this to dread

Made to stay so very still
Upon this world’s windowsill
Still as any standing stone
Or slowly slumping fill

You’ll never be made to view
Out of the mountainous slew
In a lifetime long and broad
Of handsome pictures made of you

Never shake your fist at God
Find it is only the odd
Ungraceful photographs which last
The ones in which that stubborn wad

Hair unruliness surpassed
Shoulders dusty, jacket grassed,
Subject at that hour to bloat
Your waistcoat’s simply vast

Before taking its lasting vote
Posterity will dourly note
A disarrangement of your tie
Upon which it cannot dote

And some bleariness of eye
Perhaps a speck upon the teeth
For which respectability deny
Undisturbed your frenzy by

As, though fingerless, you tear
At your nonexistent hair
Silently unheard you moan
“You really had to be there!”

You’ll be happier alone
Off that always ringing phone
List’ning to your fav’rite worm
Human id’iocy affirm!

*****

This poet works for the good of her nation and society, seven days a week.

She’s in a pretty bad fix right now ~ already homeless, and now the van she lives in has stopped running. Not a hope of fixing it without donations. One ticket is death. Real.

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