The Outsider
A friend had asked me if I'd attend her father's funeral.
He was a man that I'd never met.
Everyone who ever cared about him
was briefly under one roof.
Crammed into one small room.
He, in turn, crammed into a box.
A box within a box within a box.
As I knelt and looked into his box.
I thought of things that his eighty-year-old heart
must have gone through.
The many sparkles and all the blues.
I thought about the few million miles he walked
from here to there and back again.
To provide for his kin.
I thought about what kind of man he was.
The room was filled with much grief.
So, I assumed he must have been kind and decent.
But you never can tell.
Since I didn't know him
I felt somewhat indifferent...
Though I tried to match
the ripples of grief in the room
I was an outsider and just couldn't.
Until I saw the small bowling trophy.
Tucked in tight beside him....
That's when a little ripple settled in.
After his long earthly journey...
he'd be leaving with two things.
A ring and a small bowling trophy.
I suddenly felt like a longtime friend.
Joe the husband and family man.
Joe the provider
Joe the bowler.
Joe the loved.
Joe the dearly missed
My friend Joe.
R.I.P.
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