I wrote this about my dad last year I think, he passed in 2012. He had a sense of humor.

still firing on all synapses

growing up one of the worst things was,
having my dad roll his eyes back in his head,
cuz I did something stupid or something stupid I said,
today I like to think of him sitting in his urn,
in my mother's house, on a shelf, in her cozy living room,
with books and momentos that survived life's twists and turns,
he's there with my mom's parents and her older brother,
as far as I know my dad's side seemed to prefer,
to rest in eternal peace back inside the womb of mother earth,

and every time I or maybe someone on television,
says or does something that wasn't worth,
being seen or being heard,
there's my dad's eyeballs sitting atop his ashes,
rolling back as if he's still firing on all synapses,
having survived the crematorium's flame,
without a scratch or his vision blurred,
he was a Michigan State Trooper of which his partners said,
my dad was at his best when the shit hit the fan.