Tom was a very dear friend. In recent years he lost the ability to type to Parkinson's. I have about seven Parkinson's poems, and I hate that disease. I've earned him a Plenary Indulgence from the Church, don't necessarily believe in them, but I seek them for my friends, a sound spiritual exercise. And I wrote him a double trimeter sonnet by way of elegy:
Plenary Indulgence
I.
Tom Kerrigan has died
of Parkinson’s in doubt.
A candle has burned out
fueled by its Irish pride.
I’ve prayed for him for years.
Let him be overawed,
this man who knew not God,
for Heaven surely nears.
Remission let me earn
for all of Tall Tom’s sins.
deliverance begins
at Pentecost. He’ll turn
his heart reborn, restored,
his face to Christ, our Lord.
II.
Our Catholic friends who fall
into a deep morass
whose bounds no hope can pass
have one chance at the Wall
of Heaven, that we pray,
confess, receive the Host,
then beg the Holy Ghost
to lead them on their way.
A better friend my art
has never had than Tom
who rhymed with such aplomb.
Friend, I shall play my part
while I’m yet undestroyed.
Your soul waits in the Void.
|