Philately

he mounted stamps
when he could 
nolonger mount stairs
no longer mount wife,
he
     mounted
stamps 

screaming at Man U
screaming at you 
as
    you
screamed back
and i 
        laughing
turned up the sound

so today
 
when you
called to say, as
i knew you would, as
you knew you would, that
he had passed, that 
he was gone, that
he was lost, that
he was
              Dead
                        Say the word.  Saying it will not make him any moreso.
i found myself wondering 
what
will become of 
                       them
his sheets of two
dimensional children 

will they
lie in pages
lie in boxes
for years
for decades
until she, too
is
   Dead                               
and your wife, of
whom you will have
                           tired
forces you to 
                      What good is all that to us now if we can’t sell it?
look

and in looking
you see not
him, not
you, not
her, but
             Us

Us
running up Kennedy’s
death trail in the rain
clutching and covering 
laughing and lingering 
so proud, so happy, so
eager and so
                     sure
                            He’ll love it!  It’s perfect!  He’ll love it!
so very
             sure

will you
hold that mounted
sheet in your still
                           pudgy
hands, and
remember the 
slip of your thumb
up my thigh, the
flick of your tongue
on my collarbone, the
clench of my sex
                          all
around you

or

will I, too
be
     Dead

and both of us
                      all
of us
          Lost

©s rogers 14 march 2008