Grandpa

I slide the poem

across the sticky booth.

You analyze it briefly,

your notes generically complimentary

A teacher with a gold star

sticker in hand

But I haven't learned anything?

I don't think I've processed you.

I don't think I'm allowed to...

Like all the men whose deaths live inside

closets or memorialized gardens within my mind,

I'm happy to despise you;

While picking up the dead roses and moth

vegetation inside.

Is it even more pathetic that you were the best?

2 Kudos

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