Board Games of Our Youth B
Been about seven years since I've seen them.
Hanging like burnt grapes.
Deep in the throat of memory.
Black tie, black pants. black shoes.
To go with the black smile of tomorrow's blues.
Close to a hundred years she lived, take or give.
Fifty people or so left to live in her wake.
Blue words dance from ice blue faces.
Ancient hiccups to soothe the ages.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The grave digger waits, leans against his spade.
We've loitered too long in the blackness of our blackest day.
I miss the days when we raced around the board games of our youth.
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