Michael Waters (November 23, 1949 -)
Seth wrestled the Camaro with one fist & popped
Handfuls of pills while the pistol rode on my thigh.
I shouted Is it loaded? over Grandmaster Flash.
Amateur thug, he slipped the piece into his boot
& swaggered like a bounder into the funeral home.
Sunglass’d still & jittery, he scanned the room,
Swept past uncles to the open coffin, knelt there,
Then wedged the gun between our father’s thumbs,
Insurance for the celestial joyride, & tattooed,
Pierced, & fucked up, bowed his shaven skull and wept.