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

project:
    title: Elegies for alternate selves
    css: 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