I sit up at night and write down my rainy days
In an effort to end the drought my life has taken
Believing flowers will grow in the cemetery
If I could just get them to take a drink
Plastic flowers pollinated with ash and earth
Smelling of death and dying sentiments
Generational deformity
Takes hold and strangles the life out of me
As the fruit of my tree and loins
Runs down the leg of my family tree
And puddles in the polished shoes
Of some other poor dumb dead bastard
Dressed up in his Sunday best
With pennies under his lids
And maggots in his gut
Eating him inside out as opposed to outside in…
His scars unhealed but preserved by the formaldehyde
He injected in his youthful foolish way
Before he finally understood
That just because it is beautiful
It doesn’t mean it’s good
I sit up at night and write down my rainy days
In an effort to put an end to the drought my life has taken…

2007 © T Sheridan

Ted Sheridan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buried-sun-dried-tomatoes-wearing-shoes/