over the last year i've posted several mock heroic poems from the collection poems written in brady's UCORE notes at 3AMish ca 2001, but i haven't posted any serious attempts at poetry. i'm a bit surprised at this oversight. although i don't claim to be a poet, i'd hate for the world to remember me for three line lyrics about thumb bites and pizza boxes.
this poem, "going to a funeral", was previously published in the 2002-2003 edition of second essence:
GOING TO A FUNERAL he can’t feel his hands
as they creep up his chest.
like a pair of crippled spiders
hunched over a stiffened moth.
the long fingers fumble about the button.
twisting and turning, they peek
behind thin polyester.
nibbling at a thin disc they reappear
and press it through an invisible slot.
the blue-veined monsters climb.
up and up, they mount each button.
reaching the throat,
they pull his necktie taut,
like a noose.
he can’t feel his hands
andrew david. "yet another picture of saskatchewan" saskatchewan, canada.