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CASH CAME ON MY HONEYMOON

C Ra


The wedding went off more than well
The flight to Glasgow pure damn hell
On my neuropathic feet
But out of Ottawa,
A screener scoped my shirt and said
“I cried when I heard he was dead”
“Me too, brother”, I replied.
“You’re good to go” he said, and I
Felt the pain crank down and sighed
In gratified relief.

Heathrow a city; we walked blocks
And in passing, a proper business chap
Nodded at my shirt and said:
“‘Tis pity he’s deceased.”

“‘Tis pity indeed, sir”, said I.
In my wondering of why
Two such different sorts had bowed
My feet ceased to scream and cry.

Even gone, the Man In Black
Had carried off for me
A little darkness
On his back.

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