Honest Poetry

Broken Cellos

Broken Cellos

Dear Hokey,

Now that you're gone,

Ma has married the cello.

She strokes its strings like

Babies

And whispers in its ears.

You selfish, little bastard

Take it with you

Next time.

Now, we're stuck

With a ghost

That can't even cook.

Remember that last day?

Four-and-a-

Half lifetimes ago,

Uncle Sam

Went fishing with Death

And plucked out your soul.

He read it,

“214.”

That should have been me.

You must think I miss

You playing,

But I heard

You play last night.

The bassoons broke into

Metal shells

And the French horns screamed

And the violins died

With bullets in their hearts.

And the conductor

Tipped

His four golden stars

And beamed.

You played till

Dawn came.

Your chords were

Thick as blood.

Don't you

Dare come home in a

Neat, stamped envelope.

You moron. I'm the

Only one who

can beat you

up, remember?

I get scared.

In my dreams,

Skeletons dance on

The graves of

Broken cellos.

Come home safe, brother.

-Pokey ft. Norllr Burchfield