III. Conversatio
John Wayne
a regular old John Wayne
was Uncle Bill
who lost his arm one afternoon
when a shotgun leaning against a tree
slipped
went off, blew off
his arm.
He had a hook, one that subdivided
so he'd grip
and hook
and Griphook was that ornery goblin
Harry Potter met first, when they got the elixir
of life from the bank,
then again when they needed to kill the horcrux.
Grip
from a hook on uncle Bill's arm
he drove a jet-ski that aways,
hooking the throttle,
beer can in the other hand, the good hand, the real hand,
"Hold on Lance," he said
but he wasn't holding on
and he died
later on
I saw that grip
hook over the casket wall
there with Aunt Midge
-- the gypsy – in line. Hear the bells?
On her purple dresses?
Hear them ringing, casting
Spells?
sanctuary.
sanctuary.
sanctuary.
Enough of this nonsense
give me time
oh give me space to mourn.
Then sign the guest book or something, look there's an inch-thick
black-dubbed-permanent marker.
Nevermind.
Look...
Here take a magazine,
a game,
something to occupy your mind,
please give me space
while we wait
in line.
Here – take this issue,
you'll like this one,
it's got a pastoral lament inside, this sonnet...
here...
let me find it...
there you go: