That old shell of a van
might make a fun project for you.
Just think, when it’s done
you can make out in the back with a hot chick,
or at least a chick with hot flashes.
.
poem- everybody dies alone December 12, 2014
You tell me
you’re afraid
of the inevitable destination
of this journey,
and I can’t help you.
I’ve never been there,
and I don’t know what to say
to ease your fear.
poem- mowing stereotypes May 26, 2014
The skinny old lady,
grey hair twisted into a bun,
leathery skin, artfully wrinkled,
roars around her yard
in her bikini top,
mowing in the rain.
joy in death May 11, 2012
I have heard a lot of gleeful old ladies discussing the social aspects of funerals. Sometimes, it seems rather ghoulish, but it’s true, a good funeral is a wonderful opportunity to connect with faces you haven’t seen in years. If people are ‘friends of friends’ or family ‘out-laws’ they may have been part of your periphery for a period in your life, but as you move in different directions, you don’t hear of them any longer.
It was sad to bid farewell to a sweet girl who has been on the edge of life for 26 years. At her birth, the doctors didn’t expect Emily to live out the day, and most days throughout her life were tenuous. Emily was a model of being grateful for every day, for dressing to the nines, and appreciating the close up details of things.
Amid our sadness, it was lovely see see familiar faces from the past, and appreciate the time to reconnect with them. No one seems much changed by time, save a few pounds and some hair colour alterations. I love that.
There is humour in those meetings, as well. A man I hadn’t seen in decades commented tonight that when he would drive through my old neighbourhood that he would wonder what I was doing now. Ha. Now he has the link to my blog, all the mystery will be gone.
;-P
Shawn L. Bird 