The Cavalier Poet After the Funeral
It was after the funeral.
Your eyes met mine
across the strained formalities
marching across the pained blue plains
of the ceiling.
Perhaps, I thought, they allowed
the hint of a smile
to cloud my thoughts.
So lovely I knew was your smile,
as sweet as an apple covered in sugar.
But my thoughts were a powerless sky
over the sea of gravy
that was my plate,
impotent over the placid islands of chicken.
Despite your silent importuning,
I chose to worship my stomach.
I let boredom be your fate,
but I did not intend for a drunk uncle
to disgorge his affection onto your lap.
But why did you kick me on your way out,
dearest? That really hurt.
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