hopefully the last of the Dead Poets of the Lyric series:

Brenda, her wheelchair shining chrome in the
streetlight, her red hair up in a whisp like
cotton candy, her magical yet familiar,
“hello, hello, hello!” rings out, she rolls in.

The good Doctor smiles his quiet greeting,
Art, towering above us all returns
her hellos, behind the bar I call out
and she smiles and says, “oh, mom’s favorite
poet! I pour her a glass of white wine.

Ginger stands on the stage bearing her name,
she welcomes us all. Kevin joins her, kisses
her cheek as a dismissal and standing
alone, he begins, “He jests at scars that
never felt a wound”, the dead live again.

(this one is full of the real dead poets so many of us love. I have taken the poetic license to add myself and Kevin to the dead, though, at the moment we are both very alive!)