Blue-Eyed Boy Mr. Death For E.E. Cummings Poem by r james sterzinger

There are days when I

like my blue-eyed boy

Mr. Death close



As a habit is

like the last drag of a bitter

cigarette left to dissipate


In the bottom of an ash barrel.

Fifty-eight years of days

seems short if you are ninety


I however this day

feel ready to go

like a hawk down on a prey


Like a snow white goose

heading south for warmer

climes.


Life has lost its sense

of manners now:

no please or thank-you


Just out of my way,

it's your fault. Modern folks

with the manners of stumped legs;


Missing hands. Hello's

are dead things now

like passing cars on freeways.


There is a wreck

on Highway 35

a death knell ringing


At Holy Cross Church. How

do you like your blue eyed boy

Mr. Death? Innocence


Portrayed this day

is the white snow of Christmas

and the last fading note


Of the locomotive train whistle

that has just passed by

on the way to the refinery.