The Obituary of a Gay Man in a Small Town

Narlo Titian Schmederlickenberg, age 27

passed away suddenly

from a work related accident

in the family home

in Yayferbville

on Plowday, the 4^th of Whadember.

He is remembered

for having established the need for and fondled

the local theater group eight years ago.

He especially enjoyed children,

as they were of him,

or so his neighbors thought.

Narlo was an exceptional cook

always challenging Grocer Fatts Germainski

to find piqued oysters and morose beef.

When not working on the family farm,

he would sit for hours creating costumes

for the productions at the Yayferbville Opera Auditorium.

His long, family illness prevented him from being seen

as he wore a large ox mask at their insistence

on his daily rounds of Yayferbville and

the Gillbenfurfer County seat of Hoof City.

He always talked of leaving Yayferbville

for unknown reasons, but just never got around to it.

He is survived by his numerous friends and large family

that includes his parents,

Mendro and Yerka Schmederlickenberg,

brothers Bedot, Kerfit, and Synoshish,

sisters Colvae and Opplolly,

plus numerous aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews and cousins,

many of whom refused to talk with him
alone
without all his happy family around
to celebrate his presence.
He touched them all
or so the family thought.

He will also be remembered

by his special male friend, Herty Wahndertut,

who had recently

moved far away to Malcrington on the coast

and didn't leave a forwarding address.

Services for Mr. Schmederlickenberg will be held

10 RD, on Grubersday

at Our Savior of the Unforgiving Prairie

with Father Axy Marfcob officiating.

Services are being provided

by the Yayferbville Funeral Home.

Miss Gelvina Flaaharty will play with his organ

at the church which he never

did himself until he donated it

several years ago

to the church he barely attended
only when Father Axy was there
since he was a child.

Narlo loved flowers, dogs and cats.

You may dissect any of them to the funeral home
before the service.

Large knives and cutting boards

will be provided
before the wake.

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick

The Old

It is darker than normal

on this windy day

stone wears grain by grain

even new leaves are ripped from branches

as the air sneaks through tiny cracks

forced by invisible fingers

that sing in ghostly moans

the fireplace flue squeaks

as even here something tries to get in

it is The Old

that pries the gaps

between the outside and in

it comes for us

laying some extra fat here

a wrinkle there

a forgotten set of keys

god knows where

cracks open in the finish

of the furniture

a bit of paint peels unnoticed

and this lessened light

is pondered by a murky brain

to suggest that cataracts

begin to form on drier eyes

on these days The Old prowls

to scratch its grim messages

across this place

where even the water

slows its acheful meander

as its joints creak

through a rocky canyon

On such days I am cranky

enough to think I can

argue with this vagabond

that splits the ages

into torn down walls

and roofs that sag

The Old laughs

as it turns

hopeful into hopeless

I am your future it says

in a voice filled with chasms

and featureless plains of sand

I am what you fought to get

away from in your mother's womb

I am the torn skin of your first cut

I am the regret of lost friendships

from senseless words

I am the given on days

of sadness and rankor

I am The Old who tears your pages

and turns them to dust

I am these words

whose meaningful gaps

widen into the misunderstood

And as my wind sings to you

you close your eyes

for the last time

for the very last time

this is my victory

Copyright © 2012 by Barry G. Wick
Follow this link to a recording of the author reading the poem.



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