GREY

The men in my life are grey.

They are dark walking clouds tempting to rain.

My uncle is the man who quit smoking and ended up in the hands of a woman who smoked his life.

We found out, it is hard to stand for yourself when you’re just a butt.

But my dad is the man I watched stand on one leg.

Time has told, the grey on the hand of his watch never left the brown of his skin.

At his burial, it was grey until it rained.

My brother’s voice was grey until he stopped talking.

When the hymns started, my stepmother made sure they stayed long.

We could say we gave him enough time to limp into paradise.