A body hangs from the olive tree in our backyard -
No one mentions it, but to it
Every eye darts constantly.
It is the black sheep of the family;
Please don’t speak of it.

He hung himself last spring
When the tree was in blossom
And there he remains,
Contemplating his blunders.
He moves his hands to wave:

Goodbye, goodbye.
Mistakes are quiet and unmentioned here;
We pretend he has gone off on a vacation
From which he will never return
And meanwhile his body will rot.