His ashes, grey in black water,
Trailed the riding low boat,
And we rejoiced that his 95 years had been gentle: in:
Family, bars, factories, shipyards ….
Not since the peak of the Vietnam War,
So powerless, so empty,
As banks and miners accept, so gleefully, a huge nod to do ….
A half century of mesquites,
And in the hour they are uprooted,
Brown white roots naked, green spiny branches sprawled ….
The chained brown dog in its yard shit,
A split doll spills white stuffing on the dirt;
Cars rust along bent fences ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, early February 2017