Still life with JFK

PAPER SAILBOAT

His profile in shining lunar silver

twinkles with Dublin glee

on the half-dollar (JFK,

insouciant).  Camelot forever.

I was born in ’52, believe

it or not, but only

52 years ago I

lost my innocence (heave

sigh).  I was 11 years old

when they shattered the crown

of the redhead king.  My own.

A double birthday, dubbed.  Fold

up the deck of your paper sailboat, son;

in Newport they will mourn

the people’s chosen one,

killed by the backlash of the gun.

A still life, now.  Brown Decades

(Peto).  Reminiscences

of Lincoln.  Whitman’s

chrysanthemum (cresting cascades

of lilacs).  Memphis underworld –

I gather the limbs of Osiris

(52-pickup, Rimini-Venice).

First king, dead king.  Neighborhood

gossip has it, Solomon,

he’s coming back.  He

never died.  Like Jonah

Houdini, he’ll eat fish in Hebron

yet again.

11.22.15