Obituary Notice

— Jerry Dyer

So private was his passing,
the crematorium failed to issue smoke.

An empty seat has appeared
on the 4:30 light rail, and
the downtown sidewalks warm
to the tune of one less shadow.
Fewer Braeburns disappear
from the pyramid
in the Zanotto’s bin.

On Friday nights, the tap
of the Old Speckled Hen
at Café Trieste feels two fewer tugs
toward the barkeep’s heart.

In his apartment, the bookmarks
root in place. Moonlight glides
over the spines of orphaned poets,
and all their verbs are withering into nouns.

One thought on “Obituary Notice

  1. Oh those poor books. What will become of them now! As a bit of a biblophile, I actually worry about my own library’s final disposition. It’s a gorgeous poem up to the books, and then I just get a chill of sympathy.

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