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My uncle died yesterday
He was an octogenarian
His stroke made him slur
To me, he is ever youthful
Riding a nicotine stained Mustang
Breaking free from his bridle
Breaking free from his bride
Leaving his two sons and wife
Long time since he whittled for me
A while since he carved driftwood
Since, he enticed a second mare
A girl to ride shotgun when broken
I wrote to not cry his passing
Though I never really knew him
I cried for the end of a generation
Now old, I inherit his vacant seat
Someday  my son will cry for me
My mother says all things die
Even soju spilled evaporates
When the bottle tips I’ll pass away
Feel myself burbling away
Few will mourn a falling leaf
Few see Mustangs falling off a cliff
Even fewer still will see their art
In his imperfections I see myself
Do his estranged sons grieve?
When he is buried in Forest Lawn
When laid to rest by his parents
I wonder why I cry for an old man
Was it for him or myself behind?
Perhaps it is to honor any life
Ahead will be my parent’s rest
Behind me my son’s mourning
Find peace in a falling leaf
Winter is coming for us
We have only four seasons
Ride that broken-down Mustang
Never let go of the reins
Watch him canter ahead
I'll be joining him bareback
Help me to not feel jealous
Today is a good day to die
Uncle

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