Your laugh was loud
and a little goofy
because it was genuine.
Whatever genetic abnormality you had
that doctors didn’t have a name for
that made you a bipedal encyclopedia
and made your soul squeaky clean was
a gift to us and yourself
even if you didn’t know it.
John and I still make fast and funny banter
at family get-togethers but ever since that bus hit you
our celebrations have gotten a little quieter.
The grandparents’ dinner table
is a little less crowded now when there’s a birthday
or Christmas shindig.
Your corny jokes that never changed,
delivered with a toothy grin
and occasional spittle,
feel like the highest comedy now, classics.
You knew your sudden shoulder rubs and the quiet
off-color musings that accompanied them
would give us a laugh.
It’s bullshit that your birthdays stopped so suddenly.
Biographical Note: Alan Yegerlehner is an English major at IUPUI with a passion for creative writing. On his journey through life so far, he has driven forklifts, been a corporate cook, and walked the streets of Indianapolis as a USPS Letter Carrier for several years. His wife holds multiple master’s degrees in wildlife conservation and criminal forensics, and his daughter will soon be a wildly successful defense attorney, based upon her current argumentation acumen. Alan will one day disappear mysteriously, and no charges will ever be filed.