This is from last week’s Unspoken Ink Writing group; unedited. The prompt that was given was the above photo and the words, “crazy game of poker.”
And he sits there with his baby face,
smile pasted on and frozen forever like a doll in a case
with his polka dot bonnet
and flaming cheeks holding a toy just out of reach…
Death.
I often picture him as an old man wagging a grey finger
slowly lifting it to his thin mouth
and dust falling from his hairline lip with a crumbling shhh
but then he’s gone, like the Ghost of Christmas Past
the beeping machines snap into focus
and suddenly he appears again
now a toddler holding candy
The King and Queen know nothing, because the Joker
has everything in his hands
a screaming baby Death, screaming into the past present and future
and screaming his baby laugh in your face as your life goes to shit-
I think it’s wildly unfair;
to warp the tender charm of a fresh baby’s cheeks
But his eyes tell the whole thing- curved and dark
like a black hole peeping through two crescents
his little baby feet in little baby shoes
but those eyes
don’t be fooled by his games
or the toadstools at his feet
or the candy in his fists
I’ve grown to know you, the forms you take
and the many more that will follow:
a young man getting hit in the sidewalk by a mother of two running a red light
he’s in “I don’t love you anymore”
“I never loved you”
and sometimes in your own voice:
“I could never love you”
