Strawberries

by Rob Couteau

Published in:
Versitude
November 1998
(TX: Austin)


Strawberries

Bruce is dying.
His head hangs,
his hands rest:
one on each knee.
Hes quiet,
expressionless,
beyond anything
I know
about the end.

He grips a small square of paper
that reads: Strawberries.
He asks my father
if he remembers
the strawberry cake
their mother used to buy
at the bakery.
Strawberries were big back then,
now theyre too small, he says,
placing fingers together
to show me.
Then he stares at me
and laughs
as if its the funniest thing.
Apropos to nothing,
he says:
Language was invented
by those who wished to deceive you
.
I ask, Where did you read that,
Uncle Bruce?
He raises his eyebrow and says,
I dont know,
and laughs all over again.


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Updated: 20 June 2011 | All text Copyright 2011 | Rob Couteau | key words: poems about uncles strawberries poetry about death