Last Wrongs
Our fathers come and go, our mothers with
Them. Like the snowflakes one October hour
That melts them callous as the Trojan myth,
Like raindrops on a desert cactus flower
That drops them to the sand, our parents go.
Our smaller towns and villages get rid
Of lives more quietly than the city snow
Embraces dirt. On asphalt, hearses skid
Away on freezing rain as worthwhile in
Its meaning as virus to a street.
The rigor mortis settles to a grin
And lasts like slaughterhouse’s ram’s last bleat.
..We try to cover up these facts with prayers
….And go about our lives still unawares.