Three Stones on a Headstone by Sy Roth
Put the apron on and set the pot to boil.
Splash the barest elements of life into it
And cook it till parboiled,
Wait for the clawed chicken’s leg
To flounce to the surface
Afloat on the giggly bubbles
A gallimaufry of memories.
Boil it down into a mash
An indistinguishable conglomeration
Of the mundane puzzles
Daily existence salted with expectations of nothing
A dribble drabble of things,
Expected surprises poking out a morass
Scrabbling for attention.
Horshack oohs and aahs for recognition
The Others happy for the clamoring momentary need
That fouls the air with gallimaufry resonance
Becomes the paste of a life replete with its come-hither looks
And expectations of an end around the corner
Sent back into the arena for the counted seconds and minutes
Add some garlic for Memory
Paste it into the book colored in grays and whites
Of pretended living
And choke on the dust of forgetfulness
Followed by waning and fewer remembrances of things past.
Three stones on a headstone
Neighbor inundated with feigned pebbles of remembrances
That will soon fade.
A one-generation away Lethe,
Bumpy ride on the inky River Styx.
Explore 23 and Me
As a way of genuflecting to the stew
Attestation of existence.
All hail our temporality.
©2020 Sy Roth