07-20-2015, 02:24 PM
A barfly lay dead on the windowsill.
It had burned brightly for three days,
chasing drunken women and dodging lazy swats of spotted hands,
but now it had been painted over
and was entombed in a big swath of paint,
which had congealed around its body.
No one knew about it’s death or lead-based barrow,
but somebody leaned against the dusty surface of the sill,
and the crunch of veiny wings was stifled by the painter’s wintry brush.
“Play it again”, somebody said, “that Jimmy Buffet tune.
May it never end.”
It had burned brightly for three days,
chasing drunken women and dodging lazy swats of spotted hands,
but now it had been painted over
and was entombed in a big swath of paint,
which had congealed around its body.
No one knew about it’s death or lead-based barrow,
but somebody leaned against the dusty surface of the sill,
and the crunch of veiny wings was stifled by the painter’s wintry brush.
“Play it again”, somebody said, “that Jimmy Buffet tune.
May it never end.”