Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Time When We Counted Every Black Car Passing

by jeansman

Dear JP,

You drank too much and because of it I didn’t know you. I hear that you loved to talk politics and had big ears. That you were the first to hire a black pharmicist and the last to leave the drug store. That you loved telling stories.

Your sons turned out well. Though I suspect they all changed a bit when you died. One burned his house down over a boiling pot of chile and a bourbon. Others fear the inescapably of genetics and swore to God and their doctors they would never touch the stuff. Some forgot. I’m not so great around it either and I worry alot. I cant wait until I brush my teeth.

The things you did, turned around to follow you into the dark. I guess all our actions do.
You were a good father and great man. You were gentle. I don’t like thinking some company with mechanical arms and good tag lines discovered your weakness and loved it. I loved you.

I wish you could have been my grandfather. I think you would have made a good one.



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