No mass will anyone sing, no Kaddish will anyone say — neither said, nor sung — by none — when I’m done.
But maybe one day . . ?
When the weather’s bright & gay . . out for a stroll in [M]arch — my Paulina — alongside [f]rench [K]ristin.
With garlands of evergreen, comes she . . to adorn my grave & sigh, “Oh, my poor guy,” . . wet melancholy in her eye.
(Alas, dwell I way too high, that even for my sweet, a stool I can’t supply.)
(Geez, her weary wobbling feet.)
(Sweetie, fatty, don’t go back to your house by foot at the curb, grab a cab . . or a duck . . or a purse.)
“Commemoration Service” @ NYBooks.com ¶ “Scene: Why A Duck?” @ Marx-Brothers.org
“High In The Cinema” by Pens @ YouTube.com
Jan 2025