Espirando
The remains interred.
Merrily limp limbs
under the moonlit balcony.
In the background some leaves
black as hair.
Kafka
Granddad was a scumbag. I told him this. We played chess. Actually, we simulated a game. He was incapable of retaining a thought. What he knew were the rules. Too little for anything. In his hand he held a pawn whose head we cut off when we were kids. We bit off its head. He pretended to be thinking. This is what prompted me to tell him, this eternal pretense, a travesty of a real attempt. I looked him in the eyes and told him. Then we looked around. Avoiding each other’s gaze. He was dirty. He hadn’t swept the floor in months. Untidy. Unkempt. Not at all like a complete man. He only heated the kitchen and the bedroom. The other rooms were freezing cold, l
