ODE TO KIKI
Where are you now not dead
but all these years ahead, four
minutes down they said, just
not really quite dead. Raised
little Kiki up and then nailed
to a folding chair instead,
outside the tavern's walls and hauled
off to bed yet, not really dead.
Arruh umm you said, uh mmm
and the curious smile on
your lop-sided head. Left
arm lifted with this wave
you led street corps of marching
past walls as below us running,
the weary stream fed.
Your right arm was as heavy as lead
as past by you we sped, regretful
thoughts in all of our heads when
the doctor said you'd have been
better off dead. They sat you out there
on a throne with a crown
of invisible thorns, never to wed.
"But we managed to lift him,
up from the dead!"
We love you still Kiki –
your half-dead body and lop-sided head.
The way you knew what went on
inside of our heads as we waved back
and past you we sped. The way
you just held up the tavern's red
wall and you there, the sight of it all.
Next to that the doctor felt small,
his mistake meant so very much to us all.
Not sure what he knew but we all understood,
Kiki was better off not really dead.
So were we because he saw us then tilted his head.
They say now he is a shadow of his former self
but none of us really know which one.
