At the Grave of Changand Eng by Paul Muldoon | HEAT 8 Series 3

Basket

Your basket is empty.

At the Grave of Chang
and Eng

At the Grave of Chang
and Eng
Though Snappy Lunch is closed all week
and we’re quite bereft of a pork chop sandwich berth
Chang and Eng are still dancing cheek to cheek
in a grave near Mt Airy that even now bespeaks
their own combined girth.
Though Snappy Lunch is closed all week
we revel in a rose-breasted grosbeak’s
territory-staking song. Conjoined in death as in birth,
Chang and Eng are still dancing cheek to cheek
in a heaven filled with other kooks and geeks
who simply wouldn’t cut it on earth.
Though Snappy Lunch is closed all week
that we’re shut out lends it a greater mystique
and induces even a sense of mirth;
Chang and Eng are still dancing cheek to cheek
but to Nile Rodgers and Chic’s ‘Le Freak’.
So we revel most in knowing, for what it’s worth,
though Snappy Lunch is closed all week
Chang and Eng are still dancing cheek to cheek.

More from this issue View all

Animal Poems

HEAT Series 3 Number 8
April 2023
The Leech / You’re a sycophant, repugnant. Vile bacchant— / you suck and glut, fill like a slimy phial. No denial / of the claret in our veins. Fat phlebotomist, / yes, you were used to treat ailments—fevers, gout, / haemorrhoids, headaches, clots, bleeding wounds / and gums—you thrived, made doctors rich.
Read more

Mourning a Breast

HEAT Series 3 Number 8
April 2023
The pitter-patter of falling water echoed in my ears, as though I could hear the squelching of soap on women’s skin. Supple flesh, water, the sweet scent of soap. When could I go swimming again? I didn’t know. I had no way of guessing, understanding, exploring, or predicting my fate. My mind swam with question marks, the answer to all of these questions the three words ‘I don’t know.’
Read more

More by Paul Muldoon