Post Mortem Smells and Laughter

by Elisabeth Horan

Post Mortem Smells and Laughter

She's a stunner.

A real piece of work

Let me tell you. Elusive; she

 

Hides at parties, like this

Squirrel is road sleeping.

His shoulders not moving.

 

Angsty. That's the word.

Angry. Baggage.

Jesus Christ. She's A

Sexual. Her shoulders not moving.

 

Like this squirrel bump bump

In the road - he is still sleeping.

Too heavy lidded

To be alive---

 

You can touch her now. Go

Ahead. She is probably already dead -

 

Life - as anything, too thickly

Woven for her

Weak, sick;

Flimsiness, in the Amazon

 

Would be

Dead within the week, like the

 

Squirrel asleep on Route 113. That's ten

For today and one for each day of her life

 

Since the touching.

 

So the feet go up and down

Marching to the buchenwald

 

So many squirrels; so many women

So young; so taught

So inviting; so taut

 

They line the

Passages to

These hallowed chambers

 

A queen, I walk

First in line

I am their jester

 

And it's all gas in my nose

Not the heady

 

Scent of lilac

I had expected.

Elisabeth Horan is a poet/momma/flower/animal from Vermont trying her hardest and hanging on for dear life… She has books on the way from Fly on the Wall and Twist in Time, Hedgehog and Cephalo. Let's be kind and love one another. Peace. <3

 

Follow her @ehoranpoet  & ehoranpoet.com

Elisabeth Horan

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