by Aaron Poochigian
You were a man intolerant of nonsense.
Your voice dug in, expanded and became my conscience.
Now you correct me from beyond the grave.
I should be grateful someone’s still around to save
my frailty from the comfortable lies.
All right, the truth then: when a real hard-ass dies
the brunt of him just doesn’t go away.
You live on disciplining all I try to say.