Monday, November 23, 2009

Dead Grandpa Falls Down Stairs Quietly

Dead Grandpa fell down stairs last night. He didn't
bump much, a thing of ectoplasm mostly,
but made the clocks run backwards 20 minutes,
and all the photographs began to weep.

At times like these we know Dead Grandpa's with us,
a waning disincarnate sort of Gramps
who knows things--like what fish forks are--he never
knew before, but he cannot help us much.

He tries, we know: that's why at 2 a.m.
he's mounting stairs and falling, featherweighted,
on the Oriental runner in a heap,
light, light, like the yellow leaves or spindrift.

3 comments:

JMH said...

I like it. It's poetic.

RHE said...

Not sure I'm complimented--or meant to be, but, um, thanks.

Eric said...

This is another one that I always liked and even tried to steal, but it turns out crime does not pay. It will, however, lease with an option to buy.