Jack Granath
35 years old
Kansas City, MO
Writes poetry, works in a library.
Children's Story
A friend who fought beside him brought him home To die. He drank some water, said good-bye, And went to find a corresponding fate. The daughter and the son were left alone To contemplate their newly shattered lives And tend their squandered father, insides piled In puddles on the blanket next to him. The redcoats must have lost their British tempers. Uneasy in all that they would have to do Other than raise and take the story forward, They bent to gather in his last few words, A cheerful curse upon the clutch of empire.
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