I remember
Sitting in your yard
Thinking that was all there ever was
You were sixty-four then
I was 8 or so,
You started balding. I didn't know why
You joked about your wig,
That you got the wrong color.
Your mother, she left just before you did
I didn't know you died.
I found out two years later,
Your son was cruel, I don't know how you raised him
You weren't family by blood.
but you're still the closest thing
That I ever had.
To Wendy, and her love of gnomes.
P.S. *******, Matt.
