John-Ward Leighton

JUST BEFORE THE MUSIC COMES CRASHING IN

adrift on an afternoon bed
thinking of people alive and dead
my father gone these forty-one years
I’m older now than he was when he passed

the news comes from the periphery
of deaths in other places
an ex sister in law loses her second youngest
after losing her younger sister

my connection being my first and only bride
now gone from the scene a year and a half
the words swirl in my head
in these conversations with the living and the dead

the world is not the way it should be
old men pining for the golden age of yesteryear you see
a time that never really existed in part or in kind
except in their deluded mind

my stomach groans in protest
and the miasma of belch and flatulence
betrays my sorry presence
as I seek to finish this sentence

reading the last chapters
in awe of other author’s craftsmanship
of stories neatly finished
at the end of a golden trip

but my words won’t line up to be mowed down
like soldiers in world wars or two bit whores
pissing their lives away for chump change
for concepts that read like bumper stickers

aren’t all deaths in vain
we don’t get to live again
no second chance to get it right
before our final sunset ends the fight

whether in grace or deadly sin
we go naked into the abyss
without a hug or goodbye kiss
just before the music comes crashing in