Wednesday, May 23, 2012

My Obituary Will Read...

Photo:  No mail today.    David Graham

Today I give you another poem by John Ingemann.

My Obituary will read…

He’s dead, as a dusty untouched bicycle
locked away in the cellar of his house
with its FOR SALE sign in the lawn
near the curb, where his wife sits
waiting for drive-by condolences
or cheerful waves from neighbors
who haven’t read the paper yet,
which waits on the stoop,
wrapped in plastic and news,
the front-page on current economics,
politics, Section B6 for the cryptic
crossword across from Myrtle and me,
elderly features, grayscale smiles,
a crooked family tree, “deceased before their time”
a luxury notifying my younger coworkers
of advancement opportunities,
my neighbor, Carl, pondering
“Can I still borrow his tools,
which is silly,
since Carl still has most of them
And again, a wife on the curb,
paper in hand, thumb over my picture
smearing the ink, blurring my cheeks
and closed lips together.

Coming down a staircase of breeze
I’ll crouch next to front lawn mourner,
an invisible arm around the shoulders of the
red-eyed and teary, waiting patiently
for the mail on a Sunday
which, I suppose, is better than waiting
for me, digging up out from my grave
dirt on my suit, in my hair and fingernails,
beginning to walk home as if I was late for dinner
after the longest day of my life.

--John Ingemann

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