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A Ballad for Brother Hubbard

A Ballad for Brother Hubbard

I can hear his

coffee breath

laughing after

a morning cigarette.

bare chested, he

stretches to put

on a cut off

that isn’t quite

dirty enough yet;

heading out to

the garage to

get wet with sweat,

fluids, & coolants.

oil slicked hands

whirl blackened

kitchen sink water

down a drain fixed

by the same hands

who knows

how many times.

white bread &

bologna sandwiches

fuel the rest

of the day;

which involves

house painting,

& roofing under

a crisp Chicago sun;

a handy man pushing

through contracts

without a single

ruffled feather.

hiding mental snares

behind only-just

graying hairs, you

pressed on because,

despite having

bratty spawn,

you loved &

took care of them

more than anyone

else. including yourself.

a father,


found out

he was dying

because of

the unkind manner

in which he

handled his insides.

called it quits.

one last drowning

before the end.

might as well

go out partying.

listening to


& friends,

up past eleven.

I’ll always reminisce

mobbing to

50 Cent, &

the funny way he

used to sing


“Big Balls;”

but most of all

I’ll look forward to

seeing him again,

when Heaven calls.

whatever happened,

in his mind I

truly don’t know.

I just


hugging him

on his last night

here on Earth;

after he walked

me most of the way

to my friend’s place.

I told him,

“love you, see

you in the morning...”

- poem by S. Franklin | @thee.sleepy.scribbler

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