while visions of you are still
fresh in my head
i ought write a poem
about how you are dead
about how you let
yourself drift out to sea
when the grim reaper came
to town

i was a commander
underneath you in battle
herdsmen in computer chairs
leading our cattle
i remember the opium
sun on the beach
before wilford brimley
came to town

i don’t much write tributes
to men twice my size
i gave it my best
and we both know that’s a lie
but you were in florida
where they stuff ’em away
before the chariots
came to town

(you were my favorite,
too)