Sunday, August 12, 2012


Sunday Poem: Funeral

[Click on the photo to enlarge it]


At the service, a woman rose
Then looked down, cleared her throat
And said, voice shaky:
"He made the best ham sandwich."

Some of them laughed
Some were confused
But those who knew best
Breathed out in sadness
(you do know that sound).

They each knew a moment
Some time of hardship
They sat at his table
And he would make lunch.

Bread, ham, a slice of bad cheese.
The hum of the fridge.
He understood, nodding:

With him, just a sandwich,
But it was the same
As fish by the shore
So humbly made.

He was missed.
Too few cook like him.

Beautifully written, Mark. Very nice. Thanks,
I love the "slice of bad cheese." That's a great detail that puts this man and what he did in a different category.
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