It is thirteen years today
since you sent me on the
home depot mission
gone only twenty minutes
well thanks for not shooting
me when you turned that
shotgun on your self it was hard
getting the Catholic priest
to give you mass
but you are situated proper now
not burning hot inside the box as you thought.
Thanks for your car, condo, stocks, bonds, most of
all thanks for paying off those credit cards before.
I grew up to be just like you....well almost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Was it a blessing? A fortune? ........of life to be almost like your dad hovering over material things..........but wait! ! ! suicide in exchange? ? ? there's an paradoxial verse in this piece...........Thanks!