Untitled

I couldn't title this poem
it should be blank
the same blank I feel right now
blank like the empty tomb on easter
blank like the mobsters face at dawn
blank like the fevers orange pitch
blank like the chalk boards of hume and dante
like the disasters in Uganda
like the spires of rome

all I saw

was blank.

when I asked
"whatever happened to
old Richard?"

looking at my friend
passively from the
passenger seat.

and heard he
was murdered
last year
by hoodlums
for his chevy sedan
and mitsibushi
flat screen.

damn, I thought.
poor
poor
richard.

and I remembered
the small
jewish man
from the Bronx.

who spent thanksgiving
with me when I had
no family.

who gave me rides
when no one offered.

who would laugh
for hours
so I'd feel
funny.

who offered class
when it was in
short supply.

who wrestled
with demons
no one
understood.

who'd fill
my rooms
with
color
when all
I could see
was

blank.

~Spring 2006