The Fiancé Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

In the nursing home my boredom has its birthday,
the candles weight more than the cake itself.
Do not kill the fly; it’s my sole companion here.
Planning my funeral I prefer fragrant violets
mourning ladies not cantors, coffin of baroque style.
May it rains so I don’t suffocate becaus of dust.

Then, out of the blue, the new inmate saw me.
Oh, heavens! They dubbed me as 'the fiancé'.*
God bless the Director who allow to both of us
a walk a day in the valley, growing joy with her.

Suddenly she blew out, as a candle flame in the wind.
At the procession I crossed the plains, limping,
caressing the ears of crop, as if they were her hair.
They said I fainted during burial; I left to find her.

Returning home they taunt me; then I burst:
‘You underground worms, you living dead,
I, for her sake, became an archaeologist. Look!
I dig up my golden Girl, both we enjoy the light.’




© JosephJosephides