Cemetery Blackbirds
by Steve Passey
When I was young
To try to sound smart
I would speak cynically
I’d say that “If it doesn’t rhyme, it’s not poetry”
I saw blackbirds flying
Sprinting in the sky above the cemetery
Over the white stones and bronze plaques
One for my Great Grandmother
Buried ninety miles away from my Great Grandfather
One for my best friend
Dead at nineteen
In a single vehicle accident
And I’d say something there rhymed
Another one: She and I in a brown Chevy pick-up
A cold night in February, heater on high
We drove into an industrial park
And parked away from the streetlights
We kissed for an hour
Our teeth clicked and our lips hurt
We kissed like sixteen-year-olds kiss
Trying to be quiet, not a word passed
And I’d say that rhymed too
I can’t speak it but I can see it
And I know what rhymes in spite of what I said