He was so handsome from a boy to old man. Fit and dimple cheeks. Tawny skin, a bravado that radiated out from his torso and muscular arms.
His life was never easy, but he seems celestially calm.
Women loved him. Many a baby mama, many children, grands and a few greats.
His family moved out of town en mass to Haverhill and Manchester.
They had been here generations — but those days are gone.
He died fishing apparently this past fall. His remains recently found.
The story caught up on one of those hype Facebook pages.
My age he was.
Gone.
Gone fishing.
I suspect I will just die in bed. Cancer. Dementia. Hopefully a quick heart attack or lightening flash aneurism.
No Facebook stories, no obituary, no memorials, no gatherings.
Cremated in a coffee can or paper bag.
Leave me alone or sprinkle me in the river in Lawrence where I started.
Leave a bit under Edward at my apartment.
Sprinkle me on the hill at Patterson street.
Smudge me in the sidewalk of Calumet street.
