He showed up

April 25, 2012


We All Showed Up At His Funeral

He smiled. Like a character from a cover. Of a pulp magazine. He asked his mother for a hooker on his 21st birthday. And I don’t think I ever saw him comb. His hair. Everyone in place. And no one would have looked more out of place. With an eye patch. On each eye.

We thought he was dead. Killed by a tumor. Behind his left ear. We all showed up at his funeral. Or intended to. And then he showed up at a birthday. I gave for my wife. And I swore I wouldn’t touch another drop. I couldn’t help wonder. How much else I had gotten wrong.

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