“Monday is your birthday.
What would you like?”
He chuckled and replied:
“I’d like to be around to see it.”
Star athlete–football,
running back,
college, semi-pro.
Alcohol and nicotine
destroyed his dream of fame.
Brought him home
to live with me–
or rather, die.
I gave him pads of yellow paper.
“Write about your life,” I said.
“Your legacy to me.”
In scrawly script he filled
one journal, then another.
And died soon after.
On a Monday.
I read his final page:
“The old man slumped
on a cold park bench
with an empty pint.
Crippled fingers
dropped the cigarette
with smoldering ash.
Mashed it with his boot.
Found by police
who searched the wallet.
‘I remember this old guy–
One hell of a football player.’”
Jan Chapman
March, 2007
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