It is a small thing perhaps.
I straighten his tie and peek to see if
his socks are on right.
No shoes needed for this journey.
They got the part right-his hair glistens
as if
dipped in stars.
Is he smiling?
He wasn’t when I found him-
hanging in the closet-
he of angled head and
blackened tongue and
bulging eye.
He wears his only suit now and
I straighten his tie.
It is a small thing.
Perhaps.
I straighten his tie and peek to see if
his socks are on right.
No shoes needed for this journey.
They got the part right-his hair glistens
as if
dipped in stars.
Is he smiling?
He wasn’t when I found him-
hanging in the closet-
he of angled head and
blackened tongue and
bulging eye.
He wears his only suit now and
I straighten his tie.
It is a small thing.
Perhaps.
Story by Pamela Tyree Griffin
Photograph/Graphic by
(For more stories and poems click "older posts"! or the links at the end of the page)
Photograph/Graphic by
(For more stories and poems click "older posts"! or the links at the end of the page)
