Dead Talking Head
Poem By Francis Santaquilani
we don't miss his head.
we don't recall the color of his eyes
or miss his loud neckties,
we don't miss his voice.
we'd usually just turn the sound off.
we're glad to not hear the word 'indeed' anymore.
we mostly think of him now
in terms of what he's missing
and the opinions he's not giving, and sometimes
how it all swirls over him
or through him,
and how tight his lips must be sealed
for him to not report to us on
the flooding in new orleans,
the death of the pope, the price of gasoline
or life after death.