Day Sixteen: ‘Emile 99’

April 16, 2013

What a goddamn wash, an atrocity

to view a man and say there’s a poem in there.

 

His wife has died. Cancer. The payment’s due

next Tuesday. The Polish kids two buildings down

keep stomping the bittersweets. The dog just sleeps.

 

Welcome your get in all its sloppy grace,

peaking 50 and still the search for color.

At least the drugs. No hair in the drain this morning.

 

Jot notes to remember trash Mondays and recipes

and never refuse an invitation. Drench

yes on all the sidewalks as your mark.

 

Life brimming with half-life —

the squelch and glow and afterglow and stain.

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One Response to “Day Sixteen: ‘Emile 99’”

  1. […] before him, pens busy tracing requiems in stale air, but wider. Brainier. Literate media and sad sacks in Park Slope who still can’t pry the gold bands from their mitts. Go there, chase the venom. I’m […]

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