A Killer Conversation
By Trudie Gauerke
In Memory of Curt who I have no memories of
A phone call caught on the last ring,
But the caller already hung up,
Too late to speak to the anonymous caller,
Too late to meet Uncle Curt.
It may have been a fun conversation,
Or interesting or uplifting,
But the caller already,
Hung up. Uncle Curt was killed
Only days before I entered the Only-
Not-Dissapointing-If-You-Don't-Expect-Too-Much world,
Where we are all callers, calling
On each other for love and happiness and
Reasons to live on. One of my
Interesting, uplifting, loving reasons to live,
Hung up before I could answer the phone.
copyright October 2, 1996
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem as I mentioned in memory of my Uncle Curt
who died about a week before I was born in a motorcycle crash.
His motorcycle that carried he and his wife was hit by the car
of a drunk driver. Curt died instantly and his wife, Nancy
lived till three years later with severe brain damage that made
her like a child. The drunk driver, a man named George Boda, I
think when to prison for a 10 year sentece and was released
after about 4 years.
Birth sign: Not entered
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