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Don Bouchard
Poems
May 2012
Uncle Joe
Your old brown chair sits waiting for you
Here behind me as I write, thirty years after your death.
You, the quiet bachelor with the twinkling eyes
Smoking pipe and soft French voice.
Always Charlie’s second,
A good mechanic, but a better blacksmith.
When the police said you couldn’t drive anymore,
You went home and died of sadness.
Unable to leave home, you stayed.
I still remember the day
The ambulance screamed southward
As I played on Grandpa’s lawn.
It was you on your way out,
Going in style.
Published July 09, 20
Written by
Don Bouchard
65/M/Minnesota
(65/M/Minnesota)
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