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Monday, April 30, 2012

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 4th 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
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

Monday, April 2, 2012

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