last thoughts on the last night of the year about last things after I’m gone

will anyone scour my devices, drives and clouds

            discovering convoluted stories,

            half-assed poems and sparse excuses for books

            as well as angsty ramblings certain to be

            confusing to some and offensive to others

will people still watch Law & Order SUV

                        saying haven’t we seen this before

only to realize the answer is “sort of,“

but, hey, there are new cast members

so it changes the story, “sort of”

will anyone remember one-eight-oh-one-oh

my childhood home with memories

peacefully soul-warming and fearfully terrorizing

depending how and when you tell the story,

but always home, my home

who will continue to make corny jokes

about the Mariners winning a World Series,

hell just getting there might help generations

of Northwesterners

get a little of that long sought after rest on the other side

who will sustain

my grudges, petty though they may be, and the list

of those, who according to my standards,

have forfeited any substantive right to grace in this

world or the next

            who will find the shoes, still in the box, on the upper shelf

in my bedroom closet

and will they

know that such stockpiling

is a direct link from me to my Dad

will “my” saved money

fund the disposal of my (precious) remains or will Connie

finally take the kids and grandkids on that trip to Disneyland

all because I never took the trips

that I long dreamed of and (only) planned for

I think it happened something like this… I Wonder (1 of 6)

This is the first in a series of stories based on memories of growing up in the 60’s. Each story is 101 words or less.

I wonder

I wonder what stuff in my memory is more story than fact. Like Johnny from Sunday school, who swallowed his gum and choked to death.

It happened at the grocery store. In my memory, he was wearing a navy blue suit with short pants, because that’s what he wore to church. I was always glad I never had to wear short suits. He was with his grandparents, so his parents didn’t see him go.

I think we would have gone to the same school. We might have been in class together, maybe even sat next to each other, but we didn’t.

a poem for my dad

My dad died on 8.1.97. I wrote this poem a decade later. I'm re-posting it on this day of memories and missing.

August 1, 2007

ten years gone

a decade

August 1, 1997

we were over the mountains at a hotel

waiting to get the kids from camp

I was planning to visit the next week

got the call

you were gone

all the things you don’t know

within days, OK a few months

I had a new job and car

Michael moved out (was in foster care)

we would have talked and you would have cared

I can’t believe you don’t know

I imagine you in your family room

sitting in your chair

(it’s upstairs in our guest room now)

your television and sound system

(big screens and theater sound are the rage,

I know you’d love it)

you’d put in some action movie

tell me “listen to this”

sound would overwhelm the room

it would be impressive

I want to hear you rant about the government

and the unending stupidity of people

I want to play Upwords

just the two of us

you keeping score

for little reason

because you would win

again