No Tracks In The Great Void
Poem By Charles Chaim Wax
Larry Yeury waddled into the Teacher’s Center
unable to actually lift each foot from the floor
flopped into a chair
and launched into an immeasurable pumpernickel bagel.
“What’s up? ” I asked.
“A roach in the cream cheese, Bernstein,
crunched when I bit into it.”
Yeury unlocked his bagel
to get at the crushed creature
then flipped it into the garbage
then stared at sections of abdomen and antenna
studying intently this message of mortality
finally putting the halves together and munching on.
“There was a roach in the cream cheese, ” I noted.
Waited for a response, None.
Continued, “You just swallowed about 68 known diseases
plus a few probably not yet identified
death in each bite, my friend
spit it out, save yourself.”
Yeury stuffed a chunk into his mouth
mumbling, “I’m strong
a fortune teller told me this and other
important information regarding the future.”
An odd wink, then another bite, finally a smile
and at last a belch followed by a bigger smile.
“What did she tell you? ” I asked
always interested how life tumbled into death.
Yeury gently placed the bagel on his lap
suddenly serious, face literally transformed,
then: “In this life a hippo
with six small blue circles
on each wing.”