we had hung your portraits / right and left
in celebration / and after death
we sold them since / your music was no longer with us
your vinyls dusty / guitar lifeless
but five years later / walking through
an antique store / i spotted you
the painting could / in every way
be taken as / the very same
but Dad / this image was not you
scribbled eyes aflame and horns now fitted
and an extra set / of jet black tresses
O Father / your most final jest !