Elsa,
I’ve just received the package of bones you sent!
I’ve always wanted the complete set
to check if his throat cancer left a mark.
What fun to hold a familiar funny bone and hear
it speak again of a painted scroll,
I know the stupid bird can never eat the stupid peach
and another, offal smooth, never seen before,
a pig is a very compact arrangement,
and wonder where it fits.
The bone for Keith
keeps its silence about a word—
charged with holding the courts in contempt,
the blogger Alex Au
argued the word is gay,
Cyril (remember him?), bless his heart,
believes it is goodness,
while I fancy you—
and so the linguist speaks eternally.
Ha, ha! Arthur Yap, I have your bones all in one place,
as others do who cherish completeness,
far from home, above the ground, and unquiet.
Thank you.