[lit-ideas] Sunday Poem
- From: "Mike Geary" <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "LIT-IDEAS" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 17:19:42 -0500
HE'S DEAD AND I'M GLAD OF IT
Four-thirty Friday morning
the alarm woke Sheila,
Mayo's wife.
It was time for one of his medicines,
but she found him dead.
She called me at seven.
"God be praised",
I wanted to say.
The funeral, she said,
would be Saturday afternoon.
I was supposed to be a pall bearer.
Except that I had no clothes to wear.
Saturday morning I went shopping.
I bought an $8 dollar navy blue sport coat
from the Disabled American Veterans' Thrift Store
on Summer Avenue. It almost fit.
If I sucked my belly in, I could button it.
But I left it open, knowing Mayo wouldn't mind.
I had some black Dockers that, like all my pants,
I had to turn the cuff up under two to three inches.
But not this day. No, I would let the length go,
hoping it might hide the white "Reebok"
of my black tennis shoes.
No such luck. The pants just scrunched up.
"Reebok" shined like a neon sign.
Mayo would have gotten a kick out of that.
So he's now gone for good.
No more of his lame puns
like the one
when his son
took up lawn care.
"Mower for your money"
that was the motto.
Mayo's contribution
(besides the money
-- always the money when it comes to Sonny.)
I've liked him like
I've liked vey few men.
But I'm glad he's dead.
Glad he's officially dead.
He's been gone two months.
disappearing into a laudanum cloud
returning only to scream in pain.
Yes, I'm very glad he's dead.
He should be dead. Dead and buried.
I glad.
Glad that no one who loved him
will ever have to hear again
his screaming.
I'm glad he died.
I was proud to bear him away.
Proud because I know
he would have approved of
my costume of
respectability
and known
what a joke that was.
Mike Geary
Memphis
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