MERCHANDISE MART
I hated your mother and never fathomed your
father. The Ides of March, like some delectable
yet stinking disease, kept my crapmouth from
hedging every bet. As I recall, she wore gold
on every other finger, while he wore chains
around his neck. It was never right, and,
as I thought it over just today, I still could
not understand why we even lived to try :
some linen on the back of a chair, a table,
topped by glass, holding some ceramic
figurines and a cup of steaming coffee.
An old piece of mail, with a very
foreign stamp. Two pictures of
a man from Africa.
-
Safari suit and dead-letter office, Nairobi
Kenya and a fountain pen blotch; stroked
feathers while whistlers waited, and the
fan-light in the old bushman's depot.
He'd taken us there, to show off and
buy lunch. I remember that photo.
Nothing ever worked out.
-
He too was dead, a single poison dart
entering his heart; along the beach.
Jim Rattigan, killed from some
jungle-tree ambush far, far
from home.
I hated your mother and never fathomed your
father. The Ides of March, like some delectable
yet stinking disease, kept my crapmouth from
hedging every bet. As I recall, she wore gold
on every other finger, while he wore chains
around his neck. It was never right, and,
as I thought it over just today, I still could
not understand why we even lived to try :
some linen on the back of a chair, a table,
topped by glass, holding some ceramic
figurines and a cup of steaming coffee.
An old piece of mail, with a very
foreign stamp. Two pictures of
a man from Africa.
-
Safari suit and dead-letter office, Nairobi
Kenya and a fountain pen blotch; stroked
feathers while whistlers waited, and the
fan-light in the old bushman's depot.
He'd taken us there, to show off and
buy lunch. I remember that photo.
Nothing ever worked out.
-
He too was dead, a single poison dart
entering his heart; along the beach.
Jim Rattigan, killed from some
jungle-tree ambush far, far
from home.
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