He used to drive us crazy, <br />incessantly he would <br />spit out those dull clichés, <br />calling them, for lack of <br />what you could call a better <br />and more appropriate term, <br />colloquialisms, which sounded, <br />to uninitiated ears, like communism. <br /> <br />That night when Grandma died <br />he told her that the shirt she wore <br />would be her last and that no shirt <br />had pockets if it was your final garb. <br /> <br />He turned to our solemn faces and, <br />earnestly, eyes semi-shut, pronounced <br />that she had surely dropped her spoon, <br />and then he grabbed a can of Lager <br />from the neutral fridge and burped <br />X marks the spot, it was the moment <br />I did notice that she wore the very X <br />as was her habit, today as if it were <br />not really her last on earth, I liked her, <br />meaning my grandma and her wonderbra.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/x-marks-the-spot-2/
