Why are you so distant?
I cry to you from the balcony of my elephant.
Slowly, sourly driving the steak into my heart
That’s how papa always liked it,
Before he tripped and fell on Jupiter’s sweet melody –
The snare round his throat, “what a trap!” the ground squirrel screams;
Death in the suburbs.
Now my papa is gone.
Steak cooks on the grave
Just like Papa liked it.
By: Nick Jenne