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Tombstone

I know Isaiah Zeker,1909-1921.
Quick math. Kid was 12 when he gained his stone.
He's been buried for, what, let me think,
my math ain't great, a lot of years,
or about as long as I could think.
Acourse, he and I, we never did meet. Fishly, I mean.
Pass him as I walk down the street. He ain't alone.
There's a Floyd Smith,1866-1906, a baby named Joan.

But as for Isaiah, we share hellos as I walk to school.

Nothing spooky at all, in fact, really quite actually cool.
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Friday, October 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: life and death,wonder
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