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A Poem: Uncle Kevin 

In fourth grade,
Kevin moved in with us.
He lived in our
Front hall closet.

He lived with a fur
That belonged to mom and
A Brooks Brothers overcoat
That belonged to dad.

He was very quiet,
Didn’t mind the dark,
Was never late to dinner,
And didn’t complain about what we ate.

He didn’t mind the box that he lived in—
There was plenty of room.
If we wanted to say hello,
There was a lid that we could open.

So when Kevin left our closet,
And my mom helped him move
Into my grandpa’s casket,
He didn’t mind—
He didn’t make a sound.

My mom didn’t mind either,
“Two graves for the price of one,”
She said.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Michael Murray.

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