Tag Archives: Michael Derrick Hudson


by Michael Derrick Hudson

How ironic it is I’m dying of pneumonia, he said, some years
after high school, back when he was dying

and I was still finding out about irony.  I was bluff, dithering
Watson to his aquiline Holmes, both of us

harrumphing like a couple of madcap Monty Python colonels,
snifters of brandy and the fake glass eyes

of stuffed tigers, sloths, armadillos and wildebeests glittering

 in the firelight.  I’d puff on my cheroot (such a great word,
cheroot) and he’d moodily suck the stem

of his streaky old meerschaum.  How ironic it is I’m dying Continue reading

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