He lived a good life
Did what he was told
Unable to fix the ails of the world
He became a cog, well-greased.
Came home, every day,
the way a comet approaches the sun
Enjoyed the orbit of his children
In the morning, trying to find
Happiness in defeat,
off again to Oort, Inc
His morning coffee mug, and manhattan glass
The pipe he put away twenty years ago
And in the cellar, ham radio kit
Cutting edge, fifty years ago
All knobs and dials and needle meters.
His workbench, tidy,
Where he would fuss and tinker.
Glittering in the bare lightbulbs,
Glass Jars of screws,
their lids mounted to the shelf above
And a box of drawers made from wooden cream cheese boxes
A relic made from relics
Each thing in its place.
Now, he’s finally in his
Http://napowrimo.net. Today’s prompt is to write a eulogy.