again with the shoulders
up by my ears.
Except for before
when I let loose
the sobbing today, right then
I was loose
all over, no crying for me,
no quiet tears, just heaves
of choking, some gasps,
a big, fat grief orgasm.
I am not pretty when I cry.
My sister was better acquainted
with the deceased, but, if I may,
let me observe how utterly
inappropriate her racket was today.
She says I’m cold at the core.
Well if I am, at least my ice
doesn’t go melting when and where
it ought not, leaving a big mess.
Standing with the smokers,
watching the shadows of clouds race
up the big hill, wishing I could
walk there and lie down
in one of the big green stripes.
Now a big cloud covers the sun.
Now everything looks gray again.
Even the green looks smudged.