Dandelions (II)

He drew

these dandelions

during one

of the days

when the only

solace

was derived

from the labor

of getting

the white stems

and blurry seed heads

just right. “Nobody there,”

the new disease

announced,

with black-tie gloom,

“nobody there,”

after he’d succumbed.

Sometimes,

sleeping soundly

is almost

unbearable.

Please take

care of me,

he asked,

as they put

his crayons

with his wallet

in a box

by the stove.

In the distance,

beyond the tulips,

an insect chorus

droned:

we beat you up;

we beat you up.