in memory of J.L.B., "JImmy"
Sprinkle some of his ashes
in Mobile Bay. Watch
them float away past piers
on their way
to the Gulf of Mexico and forever.
Sprinkle some more
in Perdido Bay. He found
good trouble there
back in the day.
Take what's left. Say
the 23rd Psalm, sing
"Amazing Grace" with
seven unsure voices.
Watch a marlin too close
to shore leap out of water,
its whole blue-green body flashing
in sunlight. Sprinkle
the very last outside a saloon,
the Floribama, big and loud
and squatting on state bounder-
lines. He loved the place
so much he left his name
there years ago,
and added "was here."
Yes, walk out onto the bright
white sand, past the bikinis
and brown bodies, past
the hoisters of beer and rum.
Yes, drop the last
of his body's dust
into royal blue Mobile
waters as the wind pries
up a few white-caps.
Turn away, walk through
the bars and gift shops,
past the thumping country
cover band, out to the cars.
Drive away and one day, one
night, think "we were there once."
hans ostrom 2025
