Hades 6

Today,
I buried
My uncle,
Held the shovel
In my own hands,
Scooped the fertile
Prairie soil, heaped it
High, dug black, cool damp by
Gravediggers, now
Growing grey in
The dry wind
And hot
Summer
Sun.

I
let
The
Dust
Fall like
Rain on the
Urn that held
His ashes. There
Was too much man
For that finely turned
Piece of lathed woodwork
To hold. You'd need the
Hands of God to
contain all that
Norman
Was.

He
Didn't
Deserve
Any of that
Which he endured,
What this often bitter,
Black world offered him.
That mighty man, God's child,
This Norman loved the life he was
Living. He declared it good. For
We who are the strongest on
This earth are its weakest.
And Norman was indeed
Mighty, a conquering
Victorious king.
He spent most
Of this life
Happy in his
Small kingdom
at the
Sally
Ann.

A
Poor
Man's
Banker.
He loaned
Money without
Interest. On trust.
Only the rich ask for
Collateral. Micro-bankrolling
Poverty on the street. Norman
Should have won the Nobel Prize
For his innovation. Yet nobody knew.
No wonder he was so poor, this rich uncle
Of mine. His friends needed some
Spare change, so they went to him,
And he, out of his storehouse,
Gave them his mite. His faith
In them paid out. In trust.
They didn't rob him blind,
Fail Him. Default on their
Payments. For the most
Part. And if they did?
That was the cost of
Doing business. If
You can't trust the
Poor who can you
Trust? Not the
Suits. As Dylan
Says, they'll
Rob you blind
With a
Fountain
Pen.

He
Who
Had next
To nothing
Helped those
Who had nothing
At all. Generous-hearted
Man. Addled. Brain bing-bangled.
Norman was innocent, devoid of guile,
A little simple minded. Yet he would always
Remember who owed him what. More like a
Savant. He couldn't put two and two together.
Yet brought it all together. More than most
Of us. He was complicated like a sentence
That holds more meaning than its
Structure can bear. A tough read,
Yet Norman was easy to read.
Accepting. His pages reached
Into the hearts of those who
Cared. Pressed down,
Shaken together and
Over-flowing. He
Returned more
Love than he
Received. He
Who asked for
Nothing
Continually
Gave away
The little he
Had.

Norman
Was always
There when
Someone needed
Him. He gave and we
Received. Then he rode
To his grave in a fine black
Jaguar. This man of all cars.
He loved them all, but never
Owned one. Cut their pictures
Out of magazines, glued
Them into scrapbooks.
Couldn't get a license.
Couldn't pass the test,
Afford the gas,
Maintenance,
Insurance,
But rode to
His grave
In a black
Jaguar,
anyway.

He
Passed
Out one
Winter's
Night in
A snow bank
And fell into the
Sleep of the dead. Frost
Bit his fingers off. Someone
Called 911 and woke Him up.
Thawed him out, hypothermic
And incoherent. Gradually
Brought him back to life.
He lived another ten
Years or so. Blessed
Us all Uncle
Norman
did.

I
Still
Didn't
Get to
Know him,
Didn't cherish
The opportunity
The extra time gave me,
So my heart brims with
Deep regret. Shame.
His unexpected
Passing has left
Us (Me!)
bereft.

I
Got
To fill
In my
Uncle's
Grave today.
Clumps of earth
Falling into that
Auger-dug hole, four
Feet deep. Precious Norman
Dead to this world. His veil
Of suffering is finally, torn
Asunder. Now I know his worth.
But it is too late, too late, too late
To speak words of kindness,
Affection. To put my
Humanity into
Action the way
He did his,
Helping
those less
Fortunate
Than
He.

To
Him
Who is
Given much,
Much is expected. Your
Burden, Norman, you bore,
Manfully. You were a good
And faithful servant. You
Made do with the life
You were given,
Uncomplaining,
Grateful.

I
Covered
Your ashes
With prairie
Soil saw you
Set you free while
The Earth welcomed
You back into your ever
Loving mother's arms. Both
You and she suffered, were
Despised and cast off, but
You continued. Your body
Held you back, but your
Spirit didn't quit. Now
You are a prince among
Princes, your
mother a
Queen.

All
Fingered
One, with
Heart, soul
And mind,
Drive yourself
Down that long
Four-lane highway,
Negotiate mountain
Curves with your own
Six-Speed, super-charged,
8 cylinder, Imperial wonder
Of British engineering
Daimler
Vanden
Plas

I'm
Standing
Here, waving
You off. My
Chauffeur's
Cap and this
Shovel rest
In your
Peace.