Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2016
We convened a conclave
Where the famiglia
Was casting sideways looks,
Keeping secrets from survivors.
Papa had passed,
His mantle drapping the remains.
And a day looms for its passing
To an unelected recipient
From the unresponsive benefactor.
Dirges were played.
Outside I lit a cigarette
And the cloud of smoke rose skyward.
The ballots have been counted.
Jack Phippen, RIP.
Francie Lynch
Written by
Francie Lynch
Please log in to view and add comments on poems