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Old Uncle

Old Uncle

With cigarette lit, light shaken to smoke
the stained-dark wood humors him, veneer flame
(the face of walnut branch sliced though). Match, tamed,
he holds it up, a thinned threat, a black joke

against the grain. Sputter; laughter, sulphur
eyes burn, acerbic wit. Chain “cancer sticks”
perk him up, the OC litany, wicks
shrunk, properties lost and women’s offers…

palms up for fallen angels, mischief shrug.
Stiff jackknife snaps home. Done whittling chunk
to only shavings, air. Almost a monk,
long-suffering ticks, slowed tock, ignored smug

hound. Old clock yammers on, how bodies wind
down. Key critch, resets from digital watch.

.

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3 Responses

  1. Very nice — I could never do poetry. I’m more of a prose kinda girl. Is this your poetry lj btw?

  2. yep, see user info for the other ones.

  3. wow.

    I love that this is traditional-form poem but uses language in such a modern, fresh way. “Almost a monk,
    long-suffering ticks, slowed tock”–so good.

    –Katie, http://thelalatheory.wordpress.com

    AnonymousFebruary 12, 2007 @ 8:58 pm



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