Oh My God, I'm Sheryl Crow.

I found some poems from last year (sad times.) I found that those works have a lot of heart, and they were so easy to write. What is it about sadness that makes it so easy to spill things out on paper? Well, here's one I wrote last March about my grandfather.

I ditched class to come here, you know.
And whose idea was it to send you off in that white suit?
You should have worn your favorite leather jacket.
Your new place is small.
I've seen your neighbors- they only come out when it rains-
those slimy little weirdoes.
How typical of you to be carried around like that-
like some sort of king.
And I know you did this on purpose, you sneaky old crab.
You and G-O-D were watching the calendar...
March 8th you come, March 8th you go...
with about 82 years in between, of course.
My inheritance?
Tons of awesome inside jokes-
Like the one about baby oil being made from real babies...
Wish I would have thought of a less funny one- that one always makes me laugh out loud.
Aunt Maria slaps my wrist, probably because I'm not on the ground yelling:
"WHY GOD? WHY?"
Well, I'm not yelling- and I'm certainly not crying...
'Cause crying's for girls, right Papa?
And I know I'll see you soon enough.
I'll make sure to bring your favorite leather jacket.

Check tomorrow's post for an analysis of this poem and perhaps another one from last year.