No minister mild of manner, moon-

    Faced over his tab collar,

    My grandfather; rather, a gambler,

An embezzler, a loan

    Shark, a con man, a womanizer

W/ booze on his breath & both feet on

    The gas of whatever

        Jalopy got left unlocked.

        He even borrowed the gun he shot

            Himself w/, the smartass.

        Of course, he conked

    In a cornfield in Winchester,

Indiana, so that joke was on

Him—. Oblivion.

How’s that for a punchline?

This poem is supported in part by the National Endowment for the Arts.