Wednesday, July 18, 2012


Rewriting the Obits

“She is used to
this sort of thing”
—Sylvia Plath, “Edge"

Sitting in my study—
Late at night in Court Green

I’m gazing out the window—
Instead of into a chintzy mirror

The dead know me—
When I come browsing

Browsing in the graveyard—
Ratty weeds above them

They’re nailed in space—
Down graveyard steps

Each coffin a Titanic—
Still sinking further down

I rearrange the deckchairs—
And the band plays on

I rewrite their obituaries—
They find it entertaining

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