̶after Ernesto Cardenal

Static moisturized his face, some specks of
his baby blue eyes could be seen
through the haze of indecipherable noise.

Said his daughter,
	"I don’t know when it started. I remember
	he used to break windows with his laugh.
	We got quite good at putting glass back together,
	so now we don’t have to worry about anything
	sneaking inside our house."

If you could find his mouth, it wouldn’t stay
in place for long. Perhaps a lit cigarette could draw
it out, or even a freshly brewed mug of bitter coffee.
He's stopped eating meat and instead preferred to
chew sunflower seeds and swallow them whole.

Said his son,
	"He used to be really good at making omelets,
	knew the right tilt of the pan and the correct
	amount of pressure from the spatula. I burned my
	hand the last time I tried to make an omelet. He still 
	thanked me for it and managed to eat half. "

If he sat too long, he’d start to blend. 
If he stood too long, he'd start to blend. 
Colors seemed to run away from him
the longer he was awake each day.

Said his wife,
	"The last time I saw life in him was when
	a saw a trickle of blood from his nostril and down
	his chin. He let it spill onto his flannel,
	and the blood erased the black grid. It looked like
	the last time he broke a window, or the first
	broken omelet made each morning."

One day, he laid down to sleep, but instead
of dreams, he saw a vision of his daughter, son,
and wife in the corner booth of his father’s diner.
He inherited the diner, but it soon burned down 
due to an electrical failure.

Said the man,
	"My dad had these silver egg cups that were perfect
	for eating scoops of ice cream out of. I can’t remember
	where I put them, but I know they’re around here somewhere."

---

“Graffiti Devil ” by Bill Cawley