We were drinking ourselves
into the grave.
I escaped temporarily.
Greg didn’t.
He was crossing a
busy street in Iowa City.
In his baggy, dirty jeans
was a bottle of vodka that
he had just lifted.
I’m guessing he was in
too big a hurry to
“get well” and knock
off the shakes.
A minivan ran him down.
Before the booze wrecked him,
he was a lawyer, and a pretty
damn good golfer.
But what I remember the
best were our days at Prairie
Meadows, playing the ponies.
We cashed a few winning
tickets together, and
tore up some losers too.
God bless you, little buddy.
You’re on the homestretch now.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Another incredible write my friend, I can relate to this one. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you.
Heavy write Thomas. This is quite powerful.
Thank you.