Andrew Seaman CC
The dead, too, fall for scams, get DUIs
on roads that loop through rotaries, lose
games of chance in luxury villas that can’t
be found by satellites. My mother drives
the Rolls Royce of golf carts. Her license
never expires. Even in death, a Surfer Dude
appears on the shoulder. He says she’s easy
on the eye, flashes a mouthful of real teeth.
No implants in the afterlife, no hearing aids.
Brown butter in her copper pan never
blackens, burns. What is the lesson here
that God wants her to learn? She doesn’t love
these gauzy clouds, misses the minerally
earth, the kind of leaves that bruise and fall,
that first Midwestern forsythia burst.
Hilary Sideris’s poems have appeared recently in The American Journal of Poetry, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, OneArt, Poetry Daily, Right Hand Pointing, Salamander, Sixth Finch, and Verse Daily. She is the author of Un Amore Veloce (Kelsay Books 2019), The Silent B (Dos Madres Press 2019), and Animals in English, poems after Temple Grandin (Dos Madres Press 2020). Liberty Laundry, her latest collection from Dos Madres, was recommended by Small Press Distribution. Sideris lives in Brooklyn and works as a professional developer for CUNY Start, a program for underserved and income-limited students at The City University of New York.
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