PROPER ATTIRE


(For J.D.S. -- December 1978)



Etched

is the moment I reached 

for that hot-pink cleaning slip

you were far too numb

to see.

 

The

cortège had arrived.  You

were a small iron rod on cold

steps, void by

your side, 

 

slip

stapled to black cuff

like a neon marquee. When

I reached to strip it, you

misread

 

the

intent – clutched

as from riptides

my hand.





The Raven's Perch, 18 Feb. 2021