At freak-out point
Once when I was pretty young, pretty shook up,
I thought dead could lead the singing.
It’s grotesque playing the same scene twice,
trying not to throw up — A nice gesture.
I wish I had a spade. That’s the real reason.
How long has it been since It’s all right, sweetie?
That soft little voice couldn’t handle the key in the ignition;
you’re going to be right here in the dirty work
You saw a few nice things getting weird on us,
and all that’s left is our trespasses.
This is sort of a funeral playing at being Ophelia,
the last chapter. That should do it.
Here’s a picture: the tower of strength among us
breaking ground there (lower in the body).
I wish it was last Saturday. Bound to
digging a hole in the ground eyes wide open.
We haven’t touched much. Simmered down,
what do I say? It’s all right, baby.
This is a found poem using speech and quotations from the following source:
Duncan, Lois. Killing Mr. Griffin. Revised Paperback ed.
New York: Little, Brown, 2010. 150-157, 158-162. Print.