When Men Mourn

Reposting this thinking of my dad who lost another of his close friends this week. May Uncle D and the rest of your ancestor squad welcome you with open arms Mr. Plukie.

darlene anita scott

WHEN MEN MOURN [draft 1]
darlene anita scott

They drag their words
fraying the hems
in the casual pimp they make
along the ragged random of days:
S/he’s dead.

Never undone
yet challenged are the seams
of the coverings of their Undoing.
Challenged by distended masculinity;
pools of It puddled
and pressuring their groins.

They piss It
with any tears collecting
each time a body’s decision
calls for this presentation,
in their stiffest and finest,
of half-hearted goodbyes.

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