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Aeromancy
The town has lost its bell
With its fathers inside—
What then is the ringing at
This funeral? Possibly I am
Not myself—whose laughing
Has become this parade?
If you were to break into
These immense houses,
You’d have your run of
Things no one’s coming home
For, anyway. Girls go by
Twirling wooden guns;
Dead soldiers go by twirling
Dead soldiers. Nearby,
A kid’s face turns purple
From the colored ice—wish
It different, under trees over
Our graves. Our bodies—
The floats turning away onto
Side streets, into the house
I grew up in. The house you
Will die in. A man sweeping,
A mother looking for
Her children, a whistle leading
Traffic back onto Main Street.
Two blocks over and moving
Away, a brassy drum. The sound,
A porch swing, keeping time.
With its fathers inside—
What then is the ringing at
This funeral? Possibly I am
Not myself—whose laughing
Has become this parade?
If you were to break into
These immense houses,
You’d have your run of
Things no one’s coming home
For, anyway. Girls go by
Twirling wooden guns;
Dead soldiers go by twirling
Dead soldiers. Nearby,
A kid’s face turns purple
From the colored ice—wish
It different, under trees over
Our graves. Our bodies—
The floats turning away onto
Side streets, into the house
I grew up in. The house you
Will die in. A man sweeping,
A mother looking for
Her children, a whistle leading
Traffic back onto Main Street.
Two blocks over and moving
Away, a brassy drum. The sound,
A porch swing, keeping time.
Posted 04/25/11
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