ON THE DAY WE DUG HIM UP
TWENTY YEARS OLD
STILL SMELLING OF COAL
JOHN COUGHED UP CUBED ICE
& CHRYSANTHEMUMS
INTO HIS CUPPED &
COTTON-WRAPPED HANDS

& WE HELPED HIM UP FROM
HIS MEAT-LOCKER CRYPT
& STANDING IN STRIPES
THE BLUE & THE WHITE
HE ASKED FOR A LIFT
& A LIT CIGARETTE

SO WE GAVE HIM A SMOKE
WHICH HE HELD CAREFUL AWAY
FROM HIS WAX PAPER HAIR
& STARLET HEAD-SCARF

& WE GAVE HIM GALOSHES
& A BLUE MACKINTOSH
& THE FOOD WE HAD WITH US
WHICH WAS OREOS, AN ORANGE,
& A SMALL CAN OF SPRITE

& WE BROUGHT HIM BACK HOME
FROM WHENCE HE’D ONCE SAILED
WHERE WE RODE ON THE METRO
& WANDERED THE MALL

WHERE HE TRIED EVERY STALL
IN THE FOOD COURT & CALLED
EACH A SUCCESS, CONTAINING NO LEAD,
& FARING MUCH BETTER
THAN THE LAST MEAL HE’D HAD

THEN WE WALKED THROUGH
THE PARK & HEARD A HORN PLAYING
FROM SOMEWHERE OUT IN THE DARK
& JOHN STARTED FRAYING
TUTANKHAMEN COTTON
BECOMING COBWEBS

& HE SALUTED US ALL
IN THE OLD NAVAL WAY
COTTON-WRAPPED HANDS
UNCOILING LIKE BRAIDS
& SAID WELL, LADS, SO LONG
IT’S BEEN A PROPER LAST DAY

& THERE ON THE PARK BENCH
WHILE THE RED SKY TURNED PINK
JOHN TORRINGTON TOOK
HIS VERY LAST DRINK

Biography:

I didn’t really start taking writing seriously until my first Creative Writing class in the spring of 2024, where I wrote the first draft of Bloody Business. (Which, one could argue, was me taking it slightly too seriously.) Up until then, I’d mainly been scribbling half-baked poetry into a tiny notebook I sometimes kept in my pocket. For me, writing is mainly world-making, or at least set design – making sure the cosmic backdrop is up and the gargoyles are in their places, fully versed in their choreography. I hope to one day usurp Tim Burton as the foremost creator of spooky and/or whimsical work, or at the very least steal something from his house. Some others who I aim to either eclipse or shake the hand of, necromancy pending, are the illustrious Terry Pratchett, Ursula K. Le Guin, Mel Brooks, P.G. Wodehouse, Martha Wells, John Darniellle, and Tom Lehrer.