Ted Jean
two Peperes
grandkids are creeped
by his pickled body
made-up cheeks and bristling brows
his broken carpenter hands
folded over a favorite flannel shirt
vaguely understood to be
a celebratory display
of an already spooky old guy
briefly before his incineration
I take them outside
to splash and throw pennies
in the mortuary fountain
my furrowed face reflected
in their laughing eyes
Bio
Ted writes, paints, plays tennis with Amy Lee. Nominated twice for Best of the Net, and twice for the Pushcart Prize, his work appears in Beloit Poetry Journal, PANK, Spillway, DIAGRAM, North American Review.