They said your funeral
would be down in the valley.
And that the women
would wear white muffs,
in your honor.
I can picture the boys
in their hand knit hats
and me in the boots
I wanted to test out.
I would be standing at
the podium,
weary with your loss.
But I would say something like,
"I'll think of you each December
when I see,
through my side view mirror,
my dog's ears flapping in the arid breeze
and the geese,
who don't know which
direction to fly."
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