Sergio, wow...I was impressed also,
I didn't want to see him lieing there,
dressed in his best suit. He didn't dress
like that I said. He wore jeans and plaid shirts
that smelled of old spice and licorice.
I cried when I finally was forced up
on the predeu, he had these spots and no one
would tell me they were from the disease.
I thought he was in the process of shedding skin.
I cried again when they took him from the room,
where are they going? I asked quietly.
To the grave yard; I thought that must be like
a prison, or a dump for lost uncles. I miss him still.
I hope you don't mind adding my thoughts here of when my Uncle Jim died,
I was barely old enough to understand that he was gone.
Your poem took me back to that period of time.
Thanks and you take care