What He Left Behind

While the group at the wake was embellished and weren’t all there in person, they were there in spirit. This was written for a unusual fellow who soared high and gave a lot of love and music to many. Thanks to Smokey Quartz magazine for publishing this.

The Escape Artist

When he left
his music welled up 
all the way back to when he
was a little Southern boy
singing Hank Williams
and Elvis next to the jukebox,
all shining face, skinniness,
and attitude.

There was a prayer service,
nondenominational, filled with
altar boys, Buddhists, and Spiritualists,
people who astrally projected
and move items with their minds.
It was a diverse crowd.

His lovers came, 
even those he scammed,
the one whose car he borrowed
when he dated someone else.
Another who bought him a Martin guitar,
and the last one he married down in Austin.
They didn’t talk to each other,
they all just wept.

There were old guitar picks
and music chords, all the way from
Hound Dog to Green Pastures.
There were a few old empty bottles of 
vodka and prescription bottles
hidden here and there.

Last, there was an old cigar box of young
boy sweetness, pluck, and nine-lives attitude.
Laughter escaped and mingled 
with strums of his mother’s old ukulele
when the box opened. That was
the sound of Goodbye.