FRANKLIN MEMORIAL PARK

The salesmen sat by their desks,
making calls.

“Franklin Memorial Park
was the kind of place
people were dying to get into.”
This was a joke my father often told.

He cleaned up the office building on Saturdays.
He and I had recently put down a new floor
in the main office
where the salesmen did
most of their selling.

Burying people did not bother my father
very much.

He often referred to himself
as “a jack of all trades
and master of none.”

His sense of humor
allowed him to save face.