tagNon-Erotic Poetrya clown at the wake

a clown at the wake


we held our breath almost as tight as the corpse
I hesitate to call it father,
father was always so animated
a smile underneath whatever mood he held

so I understood why mom had insisted
that the undertaker pin his lips back into a smile
but the reality of the request was not real

a sibling on each arm we looked into the box
so pale, so rose, so red his face
we shook with a macabre tide of humor
that mother took for grief

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byDocktorWu© 0 comments/ 1157 views/ 0 favorites

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