John III
My Cratsby, my Warhol, my Arbus, my Dugdale.
See, they hang happily on my wall, there,
unlikely ever to depart, a hope to my heirs,
testaments to a time when the economy was better,
when boys danced and ruled,
when the pre-digital genius of 35 mm
was the highest technology;
what future will oust present games?
You dreaded the expiration of your lease
little less than the expiration of your life;
both happened, one well before the other, Deo gratias.
I was sorry to read of your passing
And a ghastly honor it was
to send your long-term a sympathy E-mail.
I can't blame him for skipping the Armory thing this year,
Doylestown pretty far away, after all.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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