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Bemoaned
He is dead, many confirmed.
I am sad for the people who knew him,
though I never did.
to me he will always be 'what's his name.'
He died peacefully in the eye of a tornado,
he died on a bus to the City of Angels.
it was so sudden
a shock to all our systems
caught us all off-guard
minds reeling
as we contemplated the loss.
May his wig be kept embalmed in aspic.
May his chin and its infamous dimple
be cast in Plaster of Paris
a template for a million molds.
May the print of his feet
be tattooed upon
the lower back of all middle aged
starlets
a tragic headline be embossed
on the backside of the moon.
Ring the grave church bell
walk a mournful walk as well,
respectfully talk of a life;
its celebrated grace, its unexpected fall
one we never knew or now recall at all.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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