---
title: "Death's trumpet"
id: deathstrumpet
genre: verse

project:
    title: Elegies for alternate selves
    class: elegies
    order: 28
    prev:
      title: 'To Daniel: an elaboration'
      link: todaniel

epigraph:
    content: |
        So Death plays his little [fucking](apollo11.html) trumpet.
        So what, says the boy.
    attrib: Larry Levis
...

| He didn't have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing,
| top to bottom.  It gleamed like maybe a tomato on the vine
| begging to be picked and thrown on some caprese.  Death loved caprese.

| He stood up and put the horn to his lips, imagining
| it was a woman he loved.  He blushed as he realized
| it was a terrible metaphor.
| He practiced for six hours a day---what else to do?

| Death looks at [himself in the mirror][moongone] as he plays.
| The trumpet is suspended in midair.  Damn vampire rules.
| Death is always worried he might have missed a spot shaving
| but he'll never know unless a stranger is polite enough.
| Not that he ever goes out or meets anyone.

| He wakes up late these days.  Stays in bed later.
| He thinks he might be depressed.  The caprese has gotten soggy
| since he made it, maybe three days ago or maybe just two.
| The sun streams through his kitchen blinds like smoke.
| He decides to go to the arcade.  When he gets there,

| there's only a [little boy][] with dead eyes.  So far so good.
| He's playing a first-person shooter.  Death walks past him
| and watches out of the corner of his eye.  The kid's good.
| Death wants to congratulate him.  His trumpet is in his hand.

[moongone]: moongone.html
[little boy]: angeltoabraham.html