Last Vestiges Poem by Hunter Hansen

The apple peeler
Is a handy contraption and a
Knife fighting trick
That pains far worse than
A slight pinprick

The rags flow fitfully from
A pole in a battlefield standing alone
Whether it be the
Banner of victory
Or flag of defeat
Or flesh flapping loose in the wind

The stone stands cracked
After loquacious boasting
Toasting to its independence;
Chiseled away

The sun in ice rises
Over moonlit oceans
As a fade to the past
Becomes in present a
Time of still reflection
And slight adjustment

Dropping a cone of ice cream
That cost a heaping fifty cents
That took so long to find under dusty couches
That held the pennies, nickels, and dimes
Makes a child cry
And the ants on the sidewalk happy

The house was felled by a tree
Upon which the tree fell
In a vicious torrential storm,
And the people inside
Complained of being wet and cold
And why they could not stay dry in death

A swarm of hornets became angry
One day,
When a toddler drove his tricycle
Over their nest
They stung
They hurt
They maimed the poor child
Stings upon childish flesh
Bring pain and much confusion
Yet what can be done?
The tire crushed the nest
And all they do is sting, sting, sting

Inkwells spilled
Upon a black sheet of paper
Ink still appears
Upon the table
Soaking through paper

The dice came up short
And everyone lost their
Money, and sadly one
Unfortunate cheater got
Caught and was shot
Twice in the temple

In the last vestiges
Watching life fade
A panorama glorious
Casting out vainglorious
Priests from sacred spaces
As the last vestiges flutter
In the breeze, as life passes
And all pass with it.