A new poem by Darrell Epp

Famous Last Words

can’t explain, but if i could what would change?
would strangers salute me, or present me
with a gold-plated trophy, or the
unsmiling neighbour ignoring
me in the elevator, the guy
with the artificial leg, would
he—and everybody else,
maybe—truly and terminally
‘get it’? would i become
the man who makes the
world’s best omelet, the
‘most improved, by far!’
at the high school reunion?
i feel my rage soften, melt
away, replaced by a
narcotic drowsiness. can
you please tell me where i’m going?
asks the tourist in the hawaiian
shirt, cowboy boots and hat
on his feet and head. ridiculous,
that much is obvious, but
there’s always the last minutes
of touch of evil, always
marlene dietrich asking
the audience, i mean, me: what
does it matter what you say about people?