A Lament for Little Farfel
two poems
A LAMENT FOR LITTLE FARFEL:
Last member of "Murder Incorporated" lately
dead on Long Island.
The pride of death and that desire
The night uncloaks in each of us
To love the slain above our power
To touch the living lie in trust
With Little Farfel who is dust.
Our only hero is the hood;
Our only sacrament his blood.
And those whom Little Farfel slew,
Who laced our pavement with their blood,
Whose small demise the copper knew
Not passion cued but livelihood,
Adjust their silence where he stood.
No ghost is heard, no prayer is said,
The rod sleeps with its silencer;
While all the sullen will to death
Lies spilled upon the suburb's floor
And does for frankincense and myrrh.
Our only hero is the hood;
Our only sacrament his blood.
Sweet death, grant Little Farfel peace,
Who sold your favors like a whore's;
Your bridegroom now, he softly sleeps,
Blood's rose rubescent in his jaws.
Structure
27 lines · 9 stanzas