My Old Enemy

greg skidmore
My old enemy
is dead.
I've come to watch him
go into the ground.
The family seems sad.
If he was a good man
he was not
a good man to me.
The mourners toss flowers
and file away.
I alone approach
to defile the grave.
As I do this thing
I wish I was younger
so I might make
stronger water.
Soon the hole
will be filled.
I will return
to dance.

Published by greg skidmore

30 years a professional chef now retired and involved in commentary, creative writing and all things lyrical  View profile

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