Just published by Third Wednesday. A 50/50 Contest Honorable Mention Poem.

Your Time

When mom announced
you were coming North
for your birthday,
we planned a celebration.

Guys only,
we’d take you
to the rib joint
on College Avenue

and then, after you’d
set the local record,
trundle you off
to the new cigar shop

buried in a mini mall
next to the donut shop,
catering to good cigars
and incredible bullshit.

There was a time
not long ago
when you could
eat for three

while spinning
fantastic tales
you seemed to invent
on the spot.

We watched.
We listened.
We learned
cadence and timing.

But that night
you hardly touched
your ribs
though the meat fell

from the bone.
And sitting quiet and
distanced,
you puffed

only once
or twice
on what was
a very fine cigar.

They say
elephants know
when their
time has come

and march
to their burial ground
with pace
and precision.

And we all knew
when you boarded
that plane
with a tattered smile

that we
would never
see you
again.