Be at Rest

Mr. Felice Six-foot tall, a hundred and forty-eight pounds Soft teeth, sleep-deprived Below average student Owner of two ill-fitting suits Wearer of hand-me-downs Often lukewarm and withdrawn Bathrobe often loosely tied (Be at rest, my friend) Be at rest Never once named employee of the month Lover of 24-hour laundromats Avoider of eye contact Avoider of blood drives (Be at rest, my friend) Be at rest Worked every nightclub in America Had a fear of falling pianos Now exists in the interval between being and illusion In the saddle of a phosphorous horse A patron of snow cone carts Semi-proficient at long division Once spent over two months stuck in a painting by Bruegel the Elder The hearse has been clean and polished His body has been prepared for entombment The guest book left open The funeral parlor pillows have been fluffed To his son, he leaves a cloudless sky One pair of ill-fitting shoes To his wife, a box of undeveloped negatives And a bowl of onion soup From dreams to dust