The music wasn't all that good.
But I didn't notice it that much
because I was lost in the
metaphorical resonances
of listening to a dead man's
favorite music.
It felt wrong,
holding a book while most others
held only tears and a bag of chips.
I wasn't a friend is his, and no.
We weren't related.
I'd never met him in my life
and yet there I stood,
mourning the loss of a man
with apparent terrible music taste.
Moral of the story:
Don't take a poet to the funeral of a man they've never met.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
The music wasn't all that good.
But I didn't notice it that much
because I was lost in the
metaphorical resonances
of listening to a dead man's
favorite music.
It felt wrong,
holding a book while most others
held only tears and a bag of chips.
I wasn't a friend is his, and no.
We weren't related.
I'd never met him in my life
and yet there I stood,
mourning the loss of a man
with apparent terrible music taste.
Moral of the story:
Don't take a poet to the funeral of a man they've never met.
Request permission to use this poem