#18

Four score and seven cats ago,
my grandfather was alive,
a young boy in fact,
selling newspapers in Chicago,
on the corner of 39th and Racine,
with his best friend Jackie Lane.
This was before the war,
before my grandmother,
before the fearsome task of
raising children
while abandoning liquor.
And even though my grandfather loved all beings
but hated cats;
loved all women
but hated my grandmother,
he must be forgiven,
for his life,
he must be granted that.