for Jean Franco
(March 15, 1907- April 15,
1992)
T.Wignesan I
They opened his abdomen
found what they were not looking for
though half-expected
to see
polyps enormous cancerous mush
in lieu of
and the rest that had given out on him
They said: if we had known we wouldn't have torn into
his
tripes
to see
even the sample test told us as much
but we did it for him
he so wanted it done
now we merely have to wait and see
just how long
it would take him to conk out
without solid food to pass
from his newly-grafted conduite
He was completely in their hands
and hung on to their lips their every nod
their plans for him
and the use he had
for their
apprentis chirugiens sorciers
He kept his anger for his friends family
telephone operators
the aide-soignantes
those he could intimidate with his age
for he didn't know
what they knew
they wouldn't feel the hurt the slight
for long
the rankling umbrage sans
riposte
He didn't mind all the inconvenience
the constant waking to pass water
the secluded room without tv
without his wife to take it out on
without the means to exude
his usual referee's contempt of rules
In their hands he was the meek inept thing
pleading with his eyes
his whole body bent to their gaze
of wonder
of why he would so question going
now then or
even a little later
II
You had said when I kidded you
After all
I'm not going to be far away
Now you are put to rest
In a place
dug and slabbed for you alone
As if you were not going to rest for good
with all the others
It is a place to a side in the pebble-strewn sidewalk
against the wall
your feet to the east
all the other feet to the south
As of a general standing to a salute from his army
There was no sight of you
The golden chocolatish-pink
of your casket
made
more glittering the cross
I couldn't
guess if you would have wanted the Church's ornament
then the feeling of being out-of-place
thoughts of you in a cloud
We talked in suppressed tones
about you of you
trying to be polite and succeeding among uneasy fellows
here and there some unwanted details slipped in through
nervousness
yet none felt your hand tremble on the racket
You were the master of the court
as now you mastered your going by the low sleek
slate-grained marble
in sharply polished angular correctness
amidst shy upright cypresses and neatly cut passageways of
chipped stone
We sprinkled your tomb with Church water
Neither
rain nor snow you remember could keep you from finishing your game
Already as we turned in a column the voices now louder in the distance
They were
arranging the roughly hewn stone slabs
before
the marble thickened your bed
You may at last be
at rest
with no one to challenge you to a test of strength
your referee's whistle holding its un-disputable silence
You came with the spring
Now you go in cheery spring
Your sollicitous voice still lingers in our courts
You knew us
all by name and style at play
long before we met under your critical gaze
©
T.Wignesan 1992
(Jean
Franco, born in Morocco of Spanish stock, was an Income Tax Inspector and in his
spare-time an International Soccer Referee for
[from the collection: back to background material,
1993]