The Ethereal Whispers

S Francis/SailorPoet

Stephen Fuller

Please could you stop the noise?
I have to pause a moment for reflection
Yet your reflections clamor and distract
The birds normally hopping about on my lawn.
Such sincere solemnity.

Bagpipes, always, bagpipes,
Trying to squeeze the air out of little brother’s lungs
Holding him down, sitting on his chest
Until he taps out
And cries just like you wanted all along.

For us, we haunt you,
So you say
Dare I say
We hardly knew ye?
We, the dead sons and daughters at ___________

Fill in the blank, mourners, pushing windbags
Screeching like pigs.
Did you know my mom and dad?
My wife? Did my son cry when he was born?
I did.

The problem with all your noise, mourners,
You don’t hear my ethereal whispers
When you stand at attention in crisp white
Saluting, praying, you don’t hear my panic
And Dawn, her chill, feels just like…

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