Jeff Parent

Funeral Notes


When you died:
there was a comic book stuffed in your back pocket,
some joker tied your shoelaces together,
the neighbors brought macaroni and cheese,
I slipped your house key into my pocket,
we drank ice water from playing card glasses,
we locked up the old board game cabinet,
I found a dime in the toe of my right shoe,
the paperboy got stung by a bee,
the buffet table was an old door,
Grandpa put the Chinet in the dishwasher,
the kids down the block had a go-cart procession,
a mourning dove hit the patio door,
the only photo of you we could find was your thumb,
we played American Pie on a loop,
the cat knocked over the nativity scene,
your pill bottles made great rattles for the kids,
and a taxidermist left his card on my windshield
when you died.

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Jeff Parent is a stay-home dad with a BA (hons) in English Lit and Creative Writing from Bishop’s University in Sherbrooke, Québec, Canada. He discovered the value of poetry as a mature student and decided it might be worth writing some of his own. He was a finalist in The Fiddlehead’s 2016 poetry contest, and has been published in The Quilliad, Taproot, The Mitre, and Lemonhound. Jeff lives with his wife, their young son, and two cats who lack any respect for the furniture.

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