The Jester

The Jester

The Jester

A Poem by Robert Beveridge

I'm the only person

I know

who will lean back

in church

and put his feet

up on the next pew



so I've been thrown out

of the funerals

of many of my friends


the priests don't like

my attitude

or my orange shirts

or my inverted crosses

or the remnants

of Southern Comfort

on my breath

from the Scottish wake

we always held

the night before


all the funerals

I've attended

in the last few years

are criminal


all those people crying


as they listen to some priest

who wears black

even at weddings

tell them the dead

person is in a better place


at the last funeral

I just couldn't take it any more

so I jumped up

and leaned on the coffin

of one of my ex-girlfriends

and held her hand

with the garnet ring

I have her for her eighteenth birthday

I said


you say

she's in a better place

if you believe it

cut the tears

and be happy

use this time

to look forward

to the day

you join her


I gave her hand

one final kiss

and walked out

before the priest

regained the composure

to throw me


Pride 2017

Pride 2017

From the Archives: A Letter Story

From the Archives: A Letter Story