No minister mild of manner, moon-
Faced over his tab collar,
My grandfather; rather, a gambler,
An embezzler, a loan
Shark, a con man, a womanizer
W/ booze on his breath & both feet on
The gas of whatever
Jalopy got left unlocked.
He even borrowed the gun he shot
Himself w/, the smartass.
Of course, he conked
In a cornfield in Winchester,
Indiana, so that joke was on
Him—. Oblivion.
How’s that for a punchline?
This poem is supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts.
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