Poetry from Thailand

Original poetry written in and about rural Thailand.

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Location: Chong Khae, Nakhonsawan, Thailand

Friday, August 30, 2013

Death is a suit of clothes.

Death is a suit of clothes.
Death is frilly white dress with a blood broach on the bosom.
Death is something we take off when dead.
A grandchild or in-law puts us into a black trash bag
and riding in the back seat like a ripe squash takes
us to Goodwill when the undertakers show up.
Death has no more connection to life than clothes do.
As for our rumpy, dumpy bodies all carbuncled up
in grisly states of purification, in God’s own white,
black, gray, yellow kaleidoscope of tints,
we dance to the Rolling Stones singing
“Let’s Spend the Night Together” or Chicago’s
“We’re Feeling Stronger Everyday.”
Death is a suit of clothes.

FG August 31, 2013

My beautiful, but stone dumb young cat that shits on the brown weather strap on the bottom of the screen door thinking hey the sandbox sand was brown so this must be the place came around the corner with a beautiful multicolored dove in its mouth while I was drinking Leo beer.  The bird must have landed right on top of it – that’s the only way it could have caught it.  They were like predator and prey all dressed up for a Prom, neck raised and feathered wings in the mouth.  I got upset and went inside to listen to music. Wouldn’t you?


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