The Conclave - Poem by Francie Lynch
We convened a conclave
Where the famiglia
Was casting sideways looks,
Hiding secrets from the survivors.
Papa had passed,
His mantle drapping the remains.
And a day looms for its passing
To an unelected recipient
From the unresponsive benefactor.
Dirges were played.
Outside I lit a cigarette
And the cloud of smoke rose skyward.
The ballots have been counted.
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