After I Leave
A New Poem
And after I leave the bored busboy will come and pick up the tray, the cup, the mess. What I was scribbling will be deep in my knapsack. The placid scene there, the palms in winter sun, will know nothing of the hour I spent bent over the page.
 | A guest post by
|
Yikes! I guess the poem calmed down for you (relatively) after that.
When I was reading the first few lines, I thought the bored busboy and the tray were analogies for an indifferent funeral director and the large metal trays that vacated human bodies are placed on for storage in the funeral parlor prior to prep for burial or cremation.....