Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Taton Moïse on Unsplash

I think about my grandfather sometimes
his legacy lived in a broken down
blue bus covered in rotting leaves and ferns.
Walk slow to knowledge in the poison trees,
nettles stinging on the path to temple.

Hunched over a coffee stained computer
telling stories of dismissed inventions.
Trays of used cigarettes rise like Stonehenge
powering fossils consumed in the dark.
The worms come out at night to celebrate.

As I sit in the hospital room chair
I’m told that he passed away quietly.
Something he did to himself, like most do.
I’m too young to feel sad about it, so
I carry that with me until right now.

© Trapper Markelz 2020

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