---
title: "Death's trumpet"
genre: verse

id: deathstrumpet
toc: "Death's trumpet"

project:
    title: Elegies for alternate selves
    class: elegies
    order: 28
    prev:
      title: 'To Daniel: an elaboration'
      link: todaniel

epigraph:
    content: |
        So Death plays his little fucking trumpet.
        So what, says the boy.
    attrib: Larry Levis
    link: "http://michaelduke.org/2014/07/20/larry-levis-boy-in-video-arcade/"
...

| He didn't have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing
| until it gleamed like a [tomato on the vine][] that was begging
| to be picked and thrown on some caprese.  Death loved caprese.

| He stood up to put the horn to his lips, trying to imagine
| it was a woman he loved.  He blushed as he realized how bad
| [the metaphor was][].  He practiced anyway for six hours a day
| in front of the mirror---what else to do with all the time?

| Death looked at [himself in the mirror][] as he played, the trumpet
| suspended in midair.  _Damn vampire rules_, he thought.
| He was always worried he might have [missed a spot][] while shaving
| but he'd never know unless a stranger---he had no friends---
| was kind enough.  Not that he goes out anyway or meets people.

| He started waking up late, staying in bed later.
| He started thinking he was depressed.  He never did eat
| that caprese, and it started getting soggy, green spots
| spreading on the mozzarella like bedsores.  The sun
| filtered through the [kitchen blinds like smoke][]. He had
| to get out of the house.  He decided to go to the arcade.

| When he got there, it was empty except for a boy
| [with dead eyes][].  So far so good, Death thought.
| He was playing a first-person shooter, something violent.
| Death walked past him and watched out of the corner
| of his eye.  The kid was good.  Death decided
| to congratulate him.  He had his trumpet in his hand.

[himself in the mirror]: moongone.html
[with dead eyes]: big-dipper.html
[tomato on the vine]: wallpaper.html
[the metaphor was]: leaf.html
[missed a spot]: january.html
[kitchen blinds like smoke]: what-we-are-made-of.html