Love Poem # 68:  Amos the Abecadarian  

for Leah Welborn

Amos possessed pizzazz—
bottled it with decay;
called it the varied ax,
dogged hell, and the calmed caw.
Everyone loved his improv
for even Ubuntu
gained such a laugh through that.
Hell, that made him Amos.

               “I loved her and never,”

jested his lips—his antiq
kempt and ready to quip,

               “Love, an ageless voodoo,
               meant for a patient man.”

Now is that his secret dream
or the joke taking its toll,
patiently ticking down the body’s clock?

               “Quilt her the Golden Taj,
               read her jokes by Muhammed Ali.”

Say, isn’t this where we all laugh—
taken back by his aural jig—
useless, and each of us the goof?

               “Veiled from your only love,
               weep with old remorse and
               xerophthalmic.

Yes, the heartbeat’s ebb:
Zion is what he was, our hope from diaspora.