I went to go visit an old friend today.
I hadn’t seen him in over ten years when I heard that he had died.
I just happened to be driving down the road that his cemetery is on and turned into its gates on a whim. He was only buried a couple of weeks ago, and I just drove around looking for new plots until I found him.
Elise was with me, so we got out of the car and went over to his grave. I explained to her that a guy I knew had died and I wanted to go say hello and goodbye.
The pot of yellow flowers that someone left had fallen and rolled halfway down the hill, so I picked them up and put them back, and put the little pumpkin back on the headstone.
I said, “You always were a live fast, die young kind of guy, weren’t you?”
I still can’t completely wrap my head around the fact that the guy who I wrote about in this post met his end by a cop’s bullet, but I can’t say I’m all that surprised, either.
I wrote so many great poems about you, Ricky.
See you in the next life.