Published in Harp & Altar

She found the body
Hanging off a pear tree

When I came across Gram
She had already cinched

Her own belt around
Her own brown neck

And was shimmying
Out on the limb

To join her son
As was our custom if

The tree had been a Bosc
But this was a Bartlett

When I pointed that out
We both laughed

And took a pull
From my flask then spit

Vodka on the trunk
And set the tree on fire

Also our way and
As we walked home

She mumbled son
Of a bitch son of a bitch

And we both laughed
Also our way

last updated Monday, December 29, 2008 @ 9:26 PM