For Kurt Vonnegut
I
When this planet
take a final gasp
and the remaining
life on earth is
fixated on the
death rattle,
somewhere
you will be
smiling,
unaware, sipping
bourbon with
Mark Twain.
II
Why
after 84 years
of life
and a death
do we seem to require
your peculiar
moral outrage
now more
than ever?
III
Why
after 15 years
of writing poetry
have I decided
to write this
my worst
and
most sentimental
poem
now, for someone
I will miss so dearly,
and never even knew.
(And appended it to your
name, no less.
Sorry.)
When this planet
take a final gasp
and the remaining
life on earth is
fixated on the
death rattle,
somewhere
you will be
smiling,
unaware, sipping
bourbon with
Mark Twain.
II
Why
after 84 years
of life
and a death
do we seem to require
your peculiar
moral outrage
now more
than ever?
III
Why
after 15 years
of writing poetry
have I decided
to write this
my worst
and
most sentimental
poem
now, for someone
I will miss so dearly,
and never even knew.
(And appended it to your
name, no less.
Sorry.)