i met a brilliant poet in an ordinary cafe he writes poems on everything he ever loved; but i can’t find a single one about him. so i write

The Vigil’s Progress We begin with the immediate memories Grandpa’s last phone call to each one of us only to hand over the receiver to grandma both hard of hearing and full of love Armed with pliers and a length of copper he repaired our mixers, transistors and bicycles changed the chandeliers and polished the doorknobs while grandma kept her third fast of the week Slowly but visibly, the body is growing cold the sockets of the eyes are sinking in the peace that’s settled on