Tuesday, April 10, 2012

8 of 30 Elegy for Charles Broughton

The town swallowed your death
in a gas station bathroom.
In the 4.am stillness, there is a light
and the coffee pots are filled,
endless vigil of insomniacs,
cigarettes for the sorrowful,
the passing through.

Your road still winds down to the river
the muddy cornstalks, the train trestle
young boys still drink there, in the shadow
of the bridge, the catfish jumping.
still crush pills on the toilet tank

your house, a rotten tooth in a broken mouth
the bottles piled up in the trash
life continues without ceremony
the dead stare through a filmy mirror,
the flickering fluorescent sun.

No comments:

Post a Comment