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---
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
|
