Deep Cut: Thanatopsis

Yes, I know. Another poem about death.
This one won’t be dressed in last year’s
black, I promise. You won’t have to pull out
your moth-eaten suit or wonder whether
your navy-blue leggings expression enough grief.
Just so you know, recording artists gotta land
a song on the Billboard Top 40
before I mourn their demise beyond that
academic sadness one feels when anyone dies.
Instead of an indie bitch, I am a basic
bitch, a mainstream bitch. I’ll choose Kurt
Cobain or Amy Winehouse over Elliott Smith
or Eva Cassidy. I have wasted too many tears
already over dead-too-young poets or actors
or ‘80s pop singers, and ‘90s grunge gods.
And to be honest, I hate Elliott Smith
for covering “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen
who definitely did not die too young.
I think I hate him and the song
because everyone tells me I have to like them—
kinda like the absurd admiration people have for Cat Power.
I want to make those people see
the Emperor’s New Clothes hit parade or hear
his phony marching band, but I digress.
What was I talking about?
What am I avoiding through substituting
all these pop culture metaphors that will age
like the Dublin ditties that penetrate Joyce,
and will render me quaint before my time?
I think this poem has already done so.
Oh, yes, death, that old refrain!
I will just throw some retro chords
or guitar licks at him, and call it a day.

©2024 Sean Hanrahan All rights reserved.

Sean Hanrahan (he, him, his) is a Philadelphian poet originally hailing from Dale City, Virginia. He is the author of the full-length collections Safer Behind Popcorn (2019 Cajun Mutt) and Ghost Signs (2023 Alien Buddha), and the chapbooks Hardened Eyes on the Scan (2018 Moonstone) and Gay Cake (2020 Toho). His work has also been included in various anthologies and journals. He has taught classes titled A Chapbook in 49 Days, Ekphrastic Poetry, Poetry Embodied, and has hosted and read at poetry events throughout Philadelphia. He can be found on Instagram as gaycakepoet.