31 Years

I’ve made up my mind and
I’m not going to write about you this year
it’s not the first time
on the anniversary of your death
I didn’t have anything new to say
31 years is a long time
but not so long ago
I don’t remember how it felt
and if you were still here
if you were still alive
I wonder what you’d be doing now
probably growing old like the rest of us
your hair turning gray and
would you wear it short
or would it still be long
like it was when you were young
in the last photograph I have of you
the one next to the house
where you’re standing out in the sun
and I just know
you’d still live around here
not too far from where we grew up
and you’d be a mechanic
and have your own garage
and it would always be the first place
people would think of
when they needed something fixed
and every now and then
you’d come by and see me
we’d sit in the living room
drinking a few beers
laughing too loud
when we remembered something good

James.BabbsJames Babbs continues to live and write from the same small Illinois town where he grew up.  He has published hundreds of poems over the past thirty years and, recently, a few short stories.  James is the author of Disturbing The Light(2013) & The Weight of Invisible Things(2013).