You filled the room like carbon monoxide. I cough like a chess board, hesitate letting go of my drink before I finish my next move.
With each step, red felt rolls out behind you; everything becomes a kneel bar.
I’m playing hang man with your name on this napkin.
Get Off My Lawn
Son, if you are lucky enoughto watch your skin hide underthe bed, shake your fist like an unpinned grenadetowards your grandchildren.
Tell them how you put my ashesin a pinata for their mother’sQuinceanera.
Tell them how many milestimes one hundred you walkedto wear grandma’s kisseslike a mask.
Tell them how you made mea dinosaur on Father’s Dayout of pancake batter.
When they’re 18, give themthe treasure map leadingto your mother’s grave;they will finally understandthe pricelessness of loss.
You’re gorgeous like a skeletontied to a kite on St. Patty’s Daybut you gotta quit kissinglike an etherized
» Continue reading Three Poems by J. Bradley…