here’s how I see it

at my Uncle Octavio’s wake

with the stench of death and floral perfumes

wafting into the nostrils of those in attendance

with the Grim Reaper holding his rusty

previously used reaper sneering as a conqueror

like Napoleon before his fall at Waterville, or

Water View Heights, or whatever it was,–– or the guy

holding a queen-high straight in hearts before a jack-high flush

in spades hits the table diluting his pride, or the incomparable

Maria Bonasera as I drove her around town to all her places of interest,

playing me for a sucker, and in my oldman’s slightly used Pontiac

Chieftain for chrissakes! and that’s how I see it.