Adieu, Darling Remember the Dead

March 30, 2012
By Daniel Listwa GOLD, East Brunswick, New Jersey
Daniel Listwa GOLD, East Brunswick, New Jersey
14 articles 3 photos 1 comment

Take her.
She’s dead anyway—
part of her at least
the part she said I killed:
judge, bailiff, jury, she
sentenced me
fifty to life she
let me choose I
guillotine walked freely
(I heard there’d be cake:
never miss a free meal)

My head beat me there—always does—
rolling down from the blade
lubricated by the steady stream
of my jugular I
{press 2 to report a damaged, lost, or stolen item}
watched the hand of my beheaded torso
to see where the right thumb would direct me:
left or right, secretly I
wish for gas
administered by a hand
missing its index and middle finger
cut off to escape that
dry crevice—caught, captive to stone.
Air horn sounds from impatient trucks
unhappy we are [obstructing] the freeway.
Mine are the eyes of the truck driver.
My discarded hand gropes the wheel
three-fingered, the right hand seeks
glorious release but the halls of the dam[ned]
don’t hold water and the little dutch boy
sticks his finger in the hole.

I plow my sixteen-wheeler through the ceremony
Don’t look back at the tire tracks on the bed sheets.

{Saturated in night,
the dampness is of corporal warmth
Darkness is stale and consumes color
We can only guess from whom it streamed
You or me}

Two months of driving until I
pull over at the auction block
She stands amid my parents’ pillows
and the sweatshirt we put on top of the blankets
still wreaking of your blood I
offer my life for her—
going once, going twice
sold to a French-sounding-name.
(Euros outpace dollars)
All worth the pennies on your eyes.
{Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.}

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