Anthony the Lizard

The nonnas in black fall asleep like owls.
I am fighting a black river of drowsiness myself,
my head like a kissing stone.

How he died no one knows:
thing is, everyone knows he owed
someone big something big.

His mother crawls to the coffin,
poor woman, blind in her grief,
clawing and shrieking.

All the young folk move from foot to foot.
We cannot read their minds,
but we can, in effect.

Mercy on his soul, poor guy.
Most of us knew him as impervious
to reason, his stubborn eyes jaundiced.

A catarrhal old mourner
dislodges a lung, his grandson wondering
what the hell.

Our friend and kin is dead!
To see him lying there like a dozing lizard
makes the abdomen burn.

Let us pray.
We did not find him reeling in pain.
We did not see flesh torn from his bones.

And for this we are grateful.
No, no, no the lizard guy is not alive,
he merely appears to be sleeping.