All That's Left, by Michael Estabrook

Hell, by Dieric Bouts the Elder (Netherlands) 1450

​All That’s Left
 
I wondered where the hell God was during the horror of my brother’s
untimely death and why He allowed the Devil to rule the day dropping
him from the blue sky by devils with horns and tails claws and giant bat
wings one among the many hapless helpless mortals anguishing white
moaning howling begging respite from their punishers.
 
Sometimes I picture him as he was in hospice gaunt and pale except for
the bruises he got from falling out of bed prefiguring his ultimate plunge
down being caught in cold rocky crags there to be gnawed upon clawed
mangled furtherharassed for all eternity perhaps.
 
Whenever it rained we’d get water in the basement and dozens of shiny
black water beetles appeared out of nowhere like Kerry’s cancer sent
from Satan and we couldn’t stop them either.

Michael Estabrook

Michael Estabrook has been publishing his poetry in the small press since the 1980s. He has published over 30 collections, a recent one being Controlling Chaos: A Hybrid Poem (Atmosphere Press, 2022). Retired now writing more poems and working more outside, he just noticed two Cooper’s hawks staked out in the yard or rather above it which explains the nerve-wracked chipmunks. He lives in Acton, Massachusetts. https://michaelestabrook.org/