<back
Inheritance — Gregory Hinson

My father died last May     horribly

from pancreatic cancer.

His funeral was successful

at bringing together people

who hated each other.

Most of them remembered

how cruel he was

at poker. Or how his smile

use to light up the room

behind a fat cigar—

I remember that smile

—It reminds me

of Goya’s El Tío Paquete,

the jaw hanging ajar   gaping.

And how sometimes, late at night,

I can still hear my father

laughing.