For teaching me how to belch
for fifteen seconds straight, how
to armpit fart in church, how to
sing Sinatra while belching, how to turn
my eyelids inside out, how to roll a joint
left-handed while right-handing a stick shift,
how to pause prior to the punch line
of a joke, give it the tiniest white light
of time the way a line break will slow
a poem, so please note how I pause
here so I can say: He died
before I could thank him
for the socks he sent me three
Christmases ago, he died on
his bicycle before I could tell him
I loved the book he recommended,
that I got hooked on the author,
too. I ask him Which one
is your favorite? Funny:
The radiator answers, the toilet
farts to life. I swear
they’re singing.
Thank you Sarah, he also taught me how to turn my eyelids inside out! He was a good man!
Eric! I still can!
Hi Ms. Freligh, I like the elegiac tone of this poem… even though it’s an ode. Reminds me of Keats… (Rob P)
Thank you!