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So what if his wife’s son’s in jail
It’s just possession, right, and rehab, now?
It isn’t going to crush your cachet by association
with a troubled individual who needs help
and probably didn’t steal anything valuable
or rob someone with blade or barrel, so not
in a maximum-security joint—just medium.
So we can be medium-acceptable then back up
to top rating when he’s out sometime
in the innocent new year.
My good friend cut down a suicide,
hanging insider of a neighbor’s house.
I believe he was available and near
that day, so the perfect choice to witness
the post-end of that soul and body whose
neck must have been ringed red by a rope
or bruised blue by a belt and whose other
attributes I must imagine since I am only
reporting my buddy’s task and effort
so blocked by his body of work, which I
certainly laud, but do not envy even though
his senses must have taken in the original
with its necessary inscription—sight, feel,
and smell. I take only the seconds or even
thirds, for memory further buffers, miles
weaker and safe from the self-closing.
The boyfriend, disabled in mind
and body, required an aide when
calling upon his similarly bestowed
girlfriend, in the event he had a seizure,
guaranteeing the impossibility of privacy.
So, if the lovers became intimate, and a spasm
arose from the depths of the defect
and overcame that provoked
by affection and touch, help must arrive
from the couch in the living room,
administer the absolutely necessary
medicine even after the possible little death
Death happens every day, right?
So why is this undertaker sporting
a white scarf that drifts to his belt?
And a sculptured mustache to boot—
at least he’s wearing a black suit,
but he’d probably prefer a tux
and tails to go with the scarf
and jaunty mood. I guess a couple
thousand bucks will do that, especially
if it falls to him several times a week.
I take the obit from his hand, say it’ll
appear in tomorrow’s edition, but will
edit to the paper’s specifications.
The cuts won’t dampen his spirits
or move him to ditch the opera wear
that I’m sure will carry him
like une carte blanche into and through
his next engagement with the living and the dead.