The Damned and the Deceased

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R.P. Stern

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My shoes sit quiet by the door,
My corpse on the floor,
My jacket on the corner chair.
The smell of stale Virginia Slims
And perfume and gin
Permeates the stifling air.

The rain taps the window pane,
Percussion to the soft refrain
Of horns from distant passing trains.
She shakes and cries,
My body, paralyzed,
Reflected in her teary eyes
That silently apologize.

The lies I'd tell, the hurtful things I'd do
Slip out of the room,
And all that's left is us.

The lights, red and blue and bright,
Pierce the sequinned veil of night
And approach us with the wail and cry
Of sirens. She
Topples to her knees,
Drops the pistol mindlessly,
And crawling, curls up next to me.

And here we lie, the damned and the deceased
At last finding peace
Together on the floor.

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