Uncle Eddy Dead Beneath the Flowers

by Alejandro Escudé

Uncle Eddy dead beneath the flowers.
He no longer says things like “Wine is good,

But when the water is cold and crystal, wine
Still tastes much better.”

His skull, grey, cracked and dull brown
By now, he no longer winks the devil-wink

He was famous for, or stroke his pointy goatee.
For avant-garde will never save my father

From having to arrive in his truck to monitor
Each worksite, it will never penetrate

His life far enough, or offer any decent rest
From the over-demanding client beast

In the San Fernando Valley. Uncle Eddy
Rests in the wine fields of eternity.

He no longer can say things like, “Don’t put off
What you can today for tomorrow.”

Uncle Eddy’s will is not much more than the farthest
End of the furrow. The moon sliced

In the sky like half a white watermelon.
The canonic books in Spanish, the ones he sold

To the Cal States, are not in his warehouse.
Avant-garde could not save him either.

Orozco paints with the broken hand
Of God, Rivera is afloat in The Rio Grande,

His big distended belly reflecting the sun.
My father arrives at another worksite in his truck.

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Alejandro Escudé is the winner of the 2013 Sacramento Poetry Center Award. His first collection, “My Earthbound Eye,” is now available on Amazon and at www.sacramentopoetrycenter.com . Alejandro is originally from Argentina. He is a high school English teacher and lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two kids.