grandpa rode out the big one on a destroyer
in the lovely south pacific.
the emperor's men did their level best to kill him
but they only sank that ship
and fed his brothers to the sharks.
no goddamned fish for grandpa, no sir!
it was a grizzly as did for him on a gold claim
in the burly yukon territories.
late thaw and a muddy spring,
so the bear
didn't mind choking down a sourball,
the police came and shot grandpa's dog.
the beast went feral guarding his master's bones
from carrion birds. fenris off its leash
and chomping mad.
those mounties were impressed.
but dad said, "if that mutt's so fucking loyal,
what the hell was it doing while the bear
chawed on gramp?"
i couldn't blame the poor dog.
grandpa wasn't much
for doling out pats on the head.
he didn't leave us one red cent.
If you've any comments on this poem, Laird Barron would be pleased to hear