Eulogy in Pigtown
Photo by Heart Rules on Pexels.com
Sober Monday mornings we discussed Kafka, Sartre, and you. Champagne on ice in case you visited, knowing you wouldn’t. In between sets you read poems. He searched to put one word in front of the other, seeking the one image, a sentence — by closing time, a complete thought — that would win your applause. Afternoons he limped the neighborhood, hoping to know where you went home to. Toward the end he carried a ladder having heard it was second floor. He happily paid every day in dollars and gin damage, to stay crazy, to write verse, to see you.
About the Author
Craig Kirchner has written poetry all his life, is now retired, and thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus he was recently published in Decadent Review, Gas, Ink in Thirds, Ginosko, Last Stanza, New World, Skinny, and The Light Ekphrastic.
