My junior high coach died two weeks ago,

And they couldn’t have a funeral

Because of Coronavirus.

He drove a school bus, taught science,

And coached football and tennis

For over thirty years n my hometown.

But mostly he taught us not to act

Like a bunch of GO-RILLAS, as he said,

And we’d see him driving a big oil truck

And fixing up Volkswagens all summer long,

To make extra money to provide for his wife

And their three kids.

He picked me up on the bus

Every morning since I was nine,

And everyday I would get on the bus

And tell him a joke,

And he would laugh so loud,

Throw his head back, open his mouth 

So wide in a smile, then call me a squirrel

And tell me to sit down.

No one could go to

Pay their respects,

And everybody wanted to.

So the whole town lined up

Outside the funeral home by the hearse,

And when the family came out after a short memorial service,

And began to drive to the cemetery,

They saw that the people of our town

Had lined up on both sides of the road 

For five miles,

Waving purple and gold streamers for Coach,

And for his family,

All the way to the gates of the graveyard.

-jenn