Afterlife Waltz in Minor Chords

For John C. Ralston

In an attic overlooking a street bazaar
On a dead end alley with many dim lamps
Waiting on a package with a drop dead date
The brown recluse mailman

Let slip between the seat cushion,
The boy with the propeller hat
Tinkers with his machines of extraordinary
Reflection that require constant polishing.

He exists for rent alone
On an elusive salary of combustible
Notes with nearly faint IOUs,
With a pen nib as a walking cane,

A menagerie of mandolins in training,
And a slingshot aimed at the moon.
Take a pew for a spell, dear tenet,
In the graveyard with its many vines

And many graven images,
Not the least of which exist
Solely in shadow
When the sun sets everything ablaze.