Father

I understand now.
I am slow. It took me some time.
Only the living change clothes
and addresses.

Oh! That explains why burial crypts
have many drawers—
none filled with shirts
or undergarments.

Last week I looked at your headstone
and wondered why
with all our technology
the stone is not shaped like your head.

I placed a Brooks Brothers catalogue
in your grave before the dirt covered you.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

postscript

This poem is about a father—not my father.

2 thoughts on “Father

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s