Couldn’t keep his hands
off that one type of woman.
Gave his nephew a whole
colony of aunts. Revolution
was inevitable, and copper
headed Juan was overthrown.
Next month will be lined
with skeleton hand trees.
A sharp, snowy beard calls
him “Blowfish” but forgets
how Juan played the trumpet
with ballooned cheeks, riding
the pendulum between brassy
classics and sexy low notes.
Auntie umpteen brags about
her Diamond district broach
before Pentecostal war cries
conquer the lectern. Applause
is like a teenage kiss. Inapt
quotations and greeting card
goodbyes do not put bullets
back in the chamber. A conga
line that could link Hong Kong
to Spanish Harlem files past.
He’s still ruddy faced after
the blood loss. We bury
Uncle Juan with his scarlet
tie and a rose in his lapel.
Long day? Sleep under
a winter blanket and you shall
fear no evil. There are two
cardinals in the snow. Proof
God knows how to paint.
| Copyright © 2020 by Cory Adamson Cory Adamson has been published in Medusa’s Kitchen, A Day’s Encounter, Pyrokinection, and Lincoln University’s Arts and Letters journal. He resides in Jefferson City, Missouri. |
Very evocative, the reader can see the "skeleton hand trees" (GREAT line) and the underlying level (Juan is-or is on his way-to being a skeleton too). And the blood loss? We are left to speculate, and speculation is always a delicious desert after a good meal of poetry!
ReplyDeletewhat a gorgeous piece of writing! the last lines are a masterpiece. beautifully done!
ReplyDeleteA biography in brief
ReplyDeleteand a sketch of the world....
Cory,
ReplyDeleteAnother excellent poem and, yes, the last lines fill the page with brilliance.
Excellent verse, and masterful conclusion.
ReplyDelete