HIS BEST SHIRT
Jurgen's spleen rejected waste
the sort that his children and otherwise
frugal wife quietly ordered online
these substitutions for chronically ill
but working computer towers, keyboards
mouses, printers, cellphones, refrigerators
mattresses, and eyeglasses
insulted Jurgen who mantra'ed aloud
"If it ain't dead, don't replace it," whilst
Kelsey and Jane and Frances unboxed
sleek grey metal electronic cubes and cords
and Jurgen refused to sleep on any sheets
younger than his daughters, could be depended
upon for pieces of string
as well as both local newspapers
dating from the day they'd bought their home
all which he carried to Dad's Room in the basement
and gently stacked and labeled
this living library of his life which his daughters
[to themselves] called Dad's Mausoleum showed
family and friends that which made him proud--
his singular focus, healthy philosophy
gentle triumph, his reassuring insistence
on a conflated pragmatic aesthetic
Discourageless, K, J and F put a shirt box
beside his plate of birthday cake on 2 October
their candle-blowing puckers especially energetic;
Frances handed him his eyeglasses
held together with paper clips, and he read
their accompanying card assuring him
it'd been 30 years since they'd first
given him this white Oxford cloth button-down shirt
so he could wear it now
"But I already have white shirts I haven't worn;
therefore we can keep this one for perhaps Christmas
dinner with your cousins," Jurgen smiled with
his happy solution, adding the red ribbon and bow
to his careful collections
at his funeral in November his wife
remarked to her lover as they appraised
the coffin'ed Jurgen in his splendid new shirt:
"If it ain't broke, don't replace it."
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jbprince
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