As a boy
I counted years
And soon
Dreamed of
How many novels
I would write
I remember
the braided rug
reading comics
grandma read obits
I wondered why
Then truck driver father
counts dollars
kids grow up,
who is left?
Left to count?
tombstones
empty bedrooms
ever smaller number
of family, of friends
dead
dead
they soon
are all dead
no novels, little money,
children gone,
dead
dead
and then
I am gone
Published on May 21, 2017 16:27