Robert Blair Osborn I
His death was my death,
was my father's death.
Missouri plains;
Havre, Montana.
And Golden Banquet Beer.
'Ol crew cut makes an egg sandwich,
finds his youngest in the basement-
brains blown out,
dresser-drawer revolver.
Blame it on a cold.
Young Bob meets his brother at the train station.
They talk about the horses and mom.
From Verdun to Missouri-
peacetime, League of Nations.
And End-All Wars.
He holds Dorothy in his arms-
she doesn't recognize him.
Goodbye, memories.
Goodbye, mathematics.
Hello, baseball.
- July 1999
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