For Garfield, on the Occasion of his Funeral

He was a colorful cousin, a good neighbor, and the best damned yodeler in the county.

The Good Lord Made Him

So I Won’t Grade Him…

Garfield yodeled in September

When the beans turned alkaline

And pumpkins fizzled on my porch.

Boiled peanuts and the report of a pistol

Fired just for kicks in the dead dark

Sent Garfield out to squint at harvest moons

And warble like old drunk days

When more people heard him.