AFTER JOE BOLTON (FOR TOHM BAKELAS)

On the day
my father
was buried
it didn’t rain
and
a friend
of my brother’s
used up
all the tears
I couldn’t shed
so I became
an umbrella
for the
downpour
flowing
down his
chubby face
I noticed
how crooked
his teeth
had become
there was
very little
to be said
or to be done
it was all
so very amusing
the mouth
of my father’s grave
wanted to
swallow me whole
it was so
damn hungry
an Englishman’s teeth
are an
international disgrace