Easy to Read

I would like to be easy to read

People are busy

I want to say something worth saying

Media call out to us all

I want to write about family matters

While our culture tears at families.

So, I put my stuff down

mostly in

columns now

A kind of dialogue without a story

To demonstrate things I see

And how they make me feel

 

My grandson died last month

And then my last brother

The grandson’s death?

He is our tenth

When I am asked,

“How many grandchildren do you have?”

I say, “Ten,”

Not

“Nine.”

“Ten,”

I mostly cry about him

when I go out to his grave.

So, that means I cry for awhile most days.

I once thought a person who visited

a grave

more than

once a month

was probably unhinged.

So, by my own definition

I am unhinged.

I bought my brother a football jersey

from our old high school team

way back in 1970.

The team is to be honored in September of 2018

so one of our worker bees

or

Queen Bees

the tiny one

we all called

Waddles

made up jerseys.

I ordered one for my brother.

I would have told you

a year ago

people who buy things

for dead people

to wear

are not really “all there.”

But it seemed like he ought to get one

and not be forgotten

just because he’s dead.

My brother was a rascal,

a cad,

a scoundrel,

an extreme narcissist

and

he was

my brother.

He never had a son

so his line is done

his name is gone.

Some of his ex-wives

and many of his former girl friends

came to his funeral

and remained to put flowers

on his grave.

I guess that is something.

I cannot possibly know if it is enough.

So, I bought him a jersey he will never see

and I visit a grave

of a little boy

I would give anything

to see

once.

Seraphic?

No, not so much.

Just unhinged

and not all there.

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