GRIEF Poem: Vermillion Bones, by Jake Price

The sixty-three-year-old dishwasher slowly shakes his head.
“This is it then?”
The twenty-one-year-old manager smiles.
“Yeah buddy. Are you a hugger, Gene?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“Come here—“

It was Tommy’s last day. Gene had been working at the restaurant since his twenties and didn’t
see himself stopping anytime soon. Nowadays, his knees clicked when he walked, and his back
was missing a few disks. He was still the best damn dishwasher on the line and had been for
years. He was the one who trained a fifteen-year-old, bright-eyed Tommy after all.

“Thank you for teaching me everything I know.”
“Don’t mention it, kid.”

The two men shook hands and nodded their heads. Then they each got into their cars and headed
home, wherever that may be.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest