it’s like fireworks, dad.
you said the colors and patterns come from all the minerals.
their making a mutual arrangement designed to ignite and illuminate.
you said the designers crafted this one boomy blue and that one sparkly-white.
this cascade brilliant, that smiley face a dud.
flying high or bursting low, it’s all in the timing
and atmospheric conditions.
don’t forget chemistry and physics.
human ingenuity (and error).
some are dampened or damaged in transit.
do you think they know it’s all ashes at the end?
maybe.
probably.
but what a ride.
what a show.
I don’t care if the music is synchronized.
ooh.
ahh.
I wrote this poem after visiting my friend, Lloyd Short, in the hospital. He told me that he was dying, and only had a few days left. In fact, I was the last person who was not a family member to see him.
It was my honor to recite this poem at Lloyd’s memorial service.
I hope that people who knew and loved Lloyd see him here.