Lonesome George

Lonesome George

My grandfather died today.

He fell into a coma a few days ago.
He was only a few years away
from being as old as a Galapagos tortoise.

He wore glasses that were as thick and gray
as the hairs that sprouted from his ears.
He did three crossword puzzles every day.
He was an engineer once, half a lifetime ago.
His last words were the name of his son:
“Nicholas”.

When I heard that he died,
I felt nothing but sadness-
I was sad that I felt nothing.

It’s the same feeling I get when
I haven’t written in a week
and I’m sitting at a desk, staring
at a blank piece of paper
and thinking to myself:

There should be something here.

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