The Dead Are In My Living Room - Joe E. Weil

[projectmatt.livejournal.com]

The Dead Are In My Living Room

The dead are in
my living room.
Uncle Ernie insisted he
be placed
in that toy out-house he so loved:
you know -- the one with the
little boy tinkling
with his ding dong out?

It seems appropriate.
My uncle was an obnoxious man
the kind of guy you
see in Atlantic City
wearing a bright orange tank top,
black fur on his shoulder blades,
slapping his son in the face
In front of four thousand people,
"teaching the kid a lesson."

My mother sits in a silver urn
on top of the piano.
When I had scarlet fever,
She played
Sweet Georgia Brown
twenty-three times for me.
Towards the end of her life,
She cut a tendon in her left wrist
washing out a beer glass
and couldn't play the bass parts anymore.
I used to watch her staring
At her bum hand
Then at the piano
Then at her hand again.
She had large dark eyes -- like Madame Bovary
And thin pale lips.
And I don't know why I'm telling you this.
Suffice it to say -- the dead are here:
Uncle Ernie, Mom, our pet dog Rex...
I am what keeps them alive.
I keep their silence
palpable.
Often I catch myself
humming Sweet
Georgia Brown
late at night
when no ones' listening.
You think I've gone Mad?
Even Uncle Ernie deserves my strict attention
for I grab him by his lapels in dreams
shout: Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!
Until he is a child again
with my mother's large dark eyes
and HIS FATHER is standing
over him
slapping HIS face
teaching HIM a lesson.
What are these lessons?
Fathers in orange tank tops.
Mothers with bum left hands.
I DON'T KNOW.
What is Holy or memorable
or worth preserving over the whole of this earth?
I know only that the dead are in my living room.
I can't just kick them out.

1-8-78


Joe E. Weil

http://www.iniquitypress.com/a_portable_winter.htm

Comments

[vermillion-sky.livejournal.com]

i really like this. thanks for introducing me to it! :)

[lizblackdog.livejournal.com]

Damn, that's good.

[trillador.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the intro link. Neato.