Oregon
Literary
Review
Vol. 3, No. 1

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Peter Sears
THREE POEMS


 

WHAT GRANDFATHER DID AT HIS FUNERAL

 

  People at the funeral said grandfather rose up in his coffin,

  looked around, and slammed the coffin lid back down.

  When I got home and told my family,

  they said, "You're just a crazy little kid."

  But people were afraid of grandfather,

  said he could come back as one of those big black

  squawking birds if we didn't get him now, get him good.

 

  I hadn't thought about his funeral until today, years later.

  These people, a bunch of nose hairs, dressed me

  in this suit that is too tight, tried to plaster down my hair,

  and started lowering me in this casket

  into a grave. It feels like your bed is going down

  through the floor and you can't wake up.

 

  Now they start to pull me back up out of the grave,

  and what I am thinking about

  is the river wearing away this hill

  and one of these days the river will lift the cemetery

  and float it off, and maybe grandfather and I

  will float down the hill, too, sitting up in our open caskets.

 

  The town will be flooding. We will save a couple of dogs

  and dock at a magistrate's house, tie up our caskets

  to his porch railing, introduce ourselves,

  suggest that he break out his Silver Fox,

  the renowned vodka of our region,

  and call for some scraps for the shivering dogs.

 

 

 

  WHEN THE RED WIND BLOWS

 

  Where do we go when we finally go?

  Does go mean gone? Or is gone a flow

  that goes on forever? What does it mean

  if there's above and below? Can you tell,

  before, which way you're headed?

  O dear in the dark I don't want to know.

 

  What about Mom? What about Dad?

  What about our dog buried out back?

  Some nights his ghost plays on his bones

  like on an xylophone. I can't sleep.

  At school I fall asleep. My teachers,

  why can't they leave me alone,

  let me sit on my shadow

 

  on the bank of a brook? I promise, I won't

  shoot birds, I won't light bugs on fire.

  But what if I have to go to war

  and I'm the ball turret gunner on a B-17?

  Will I blubber into my oxygen mask?

  Will I sight in steay on enemy planes

  or freeze in my head and pee in my pants?

 

  Mom and Dad, they say that when the right

  time comes, they'll be ready to go.

  How do they know? They could be hit tommow

  by a car or fall down a hole. I bet they tell us

  all this so we'll sleep through the night

  when the red wind blows.

 

 

 

  MEAN

 

  I'm so old I barely remember driving,

  but I remember my brothers and cousins asking me

  when I was any taller than a big dog, Hey, Shrimp,

  are you ever going to grow enough to see over the dash?

  They sure thought that was funny.

  So they said it over again. Well, when I couldn't stand

  being in the house with them any longer,

  I went outside and climbed into the back seat of the car.

  One time the sunset

  came down into the car and made a yellow space in the backseat.

  From there I pretended to steer.

  The door next to me swung open, my brothers and cousins yelled.

  You bet it scared me.

  They about choked on their laughing

  and sprawled across the hood of the car,

  swinging their heads as if they were tryiing to swing them off.

  Their tongues like little rollercoasters

  and their eyes bouncing around like bullets.

  You can hate people for being stupid,

  even if you don't want to.