Sunday, December 2, 2012

A Poem by Sy Roth


the saints-go-marching-in procession
passes streets and waiting beings.
somber cortege, a boa constrictor,
slithers along winding streets
lights blinking and choking traffic.

mourners talk of picnics and politics
while they pass McNulty’s Ice Cream Parlor,
and droopy teens licking their  ice cream cones.
neighbors peek out from behind curtained windows
as his rhumba line slugs along
and bops out onto 25A,
weaving between morning traffic
to a rustic, moss-covered cemetery.
moldy tombstones marked 1885, 1924, 1948
speckle the hillside with their silence
beloved sons, and daughters,
uncles, cats and dogs
molder under ancient, twisted trees.

when his casket could pass nothing else--
not the mound of dirt covered by green fabric
not the funeral director in his black, well-worn suit,
not the platitudes of the priest,
not the leaden overcast day of  his last passing,
time descending froze.

Sy Roth retired after forty-two years as teacher/school administrator, he now resides in Mount Sinai , far from Moses and the tablets. This has led him to find words for solace.   He spends his time writing and playing his guitar. He has published in Visceral Uterus, Amulet, BlogNostics, Every Day Poets, Barefoot Review, Haggard and Halloo, Misfits Miscellany, Larks Fiction Magazine, Danse Macabre, Bitchin’ Kitch, Bong is Bard, Humber Pie, Poetry Super Highway, Penwood Review, Masque Publications, Foliate Oak, Miller’s Pond Poetry, The Artistic Muse, Word Riot, Samizdat Literary Journal, Right Hand Pointing, The Screech Owl, Epiphany, Red Poppy Review, Big River, Poehemians, Nostrovia Poetry’s Milk and Honey, Siren, Palimpsest,  Dead Snakes, Euphemism, Humanimalz Literary Journal, Ascent Aspirations, Fowl Feathered Review, Vayavya and Kerouac’s Dog. 

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