Wednesday, April 09, 2008

NaPoWriMo 9

To My Father at 84


You held your breath it all erodes
you've got tastebuds better savor
smartest in your class
poet at four and twenty
regrets die with you too and when
you do not choose your life depends
you splat like robin egg on deck
cherry blossom carpet outside Sears
knife scrapes plate your fingers bony
why not gobble Good and Plenty
abandon all that crap and nuance
rip her fingers from your roses
yell "they're mine!"

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