Stanley

EvilToasterElfEvilToasterElf Posts: 1,119
edited April 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Stanley

his suit was an irreplaceable appendage
his personal foliage of dusk
it absorbed the morning glare on the walk to work
and refused the illumination of street lights on the way home
in between was reserved, the sign on his breast
said do not disturb
his personal religion was the quietude of numbers
he has almost no memory of names and faces
only voices attached to phone numbers
his mind has no room for solstices
they is broken into a chain of opening days
he has an empty seat reserved in every tri-state stadium
season tickets he gives away all year, just in case
they make the playoffs
these are the trap-doors from tedium
he has no time for hatred
existence and sanity require no more
than his minds empty space of ambivalence
he loved a woman once
he was very honest with her
she was a close friend for 3 years
and a voiceless stranger for 17
but their marriage was comfortable for 20
his children were just graduating from college
they have never even asked him his middle name

Stanley

They found it through wet, blurry vision
etched into a granite slab
above an empty coffin
above an empty grave
two months after a 747 crashed into his corner office
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Ms. HaikuMs. Haiku Posts: 7,265
    When I read the second part it shocked me, and I almost forgot the first part. The tone varies between life and death-the two parts, and I wonder if the extent of the difference is intentional. I liked how you described the living.
    There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
    The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
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