ysabetwordsmith: (moment of silence)
[personal profile] ysabetwordsmith
This poem was inspired by a prompt from [personal profile] kshandra who mentioned the late Jay Lake. The title is taken from the title of his forthcoming collection of short stories. Here, then is how Schrodinger's Heroes throw a wake for a favorite writer. This poem is posted free, courtesy of new prompters [personal profile] kshandra and LJ user Moriwen1. It also fills the "pain" square in my 6-1-14 card for the [community profile] genprompt_bingo fest.


"The Last Plane to Heaven"
-- in memoriam of Jay Lake, 1964-2014


The room party was a riot
of rope lights and plastic palm trees,
jerry-rigged sound equipment,
and a leaning tower of pizza.

Morgan was already
three sheets to the wind,
his Hawaiian shirt half-unbuttoned
as he played his ukelele
while Pat sang the blues.

Kay kept the beat on an ice bucket,
swinging half a bottle of tequila.
Bailey was so swathed in electrical cords
that the Star Trek fans kept making Borg jokes.

Ash was chatting up that guy
who used to play Chakotay,
and Chris was trying gamely to follow
some astrophysicist's description of laser engines
while attempting to detach a hissing Schrodinger
from a purloined slice of pepperoni.

Quinn wore a grass skirt and a smile.

Then Alex came through the door
with a small box in her hand,
and the room fell silent.

"Did you get it?" Morgan asked.
"Tell me you got it!"

"I got it," Alex said. She'd gotten it
from the dimension next door,
but not everyone needed to know that.
"Bailey, are we good to go?"

"All systems ready and waiting,"
Bailey said, turning on the
entertainment system.

"Ladies and gentlemen,
in memory of Jay Lake,
I give you his movie
The Last Plane to Heaven --
NOT coming soon to a galaxy near you,
so enjoy it while you can," said Alex.

The lights dimmed,
which was a good thing,
because people were already sniffling.

Pat passed the napkins.
They'd run out of kleenex.

The big screen filled with clouds,
tinted gold by the setting sun,
and organ music soared
as the title appeared.

If people were crying, well,
they were in good company.
 

(no subject)

Date: 2014-06-04 06:04 am (UTC)
kshandra: Porcelain figurine of a dragon embracing a smaller dragon; the smaller one is pointing to the larger one's heart (YouTouchMyHeart)
From: [personal profile] kshandra
Thank you.

(no subject)

Date: 2014-06-04 04:52 am (UTC)
ext_3294: Tux (Default)
From: [identity profile] technoshaman.livejournal.com
In the spirit of Callahan's, in whose style I've been known to do a eulogy or two:

**CRASH** (into the fireplace with the shot glass, which would still have the slightest vapour of Ardbeg Corryvreckan clinging to it)

Thank you!

Date: 2014-06-04 05:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com
I'm glad you found that so moving.

Callahan's is a very fine Place.

(no subject)

Date: 2014-06-04 05:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kestrels-nest.livejournal.com
Tears are for the living, and grief for those who are left behind.

I wish I could remember who said that.

Yes...

Date: 2014-06-04 06:19 pm (UTC)

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