Gerry the Poet
A short story about an unlikely poet.
Years ago, a delivery driver used to frequent my business. His name was Gerry. He was an older gentleman, retired, delivering supplies part-time to stave off boredom.
I got to know Gerry. He had been married for many years, had children and grandchildren, and was a classic car enthusiast. One day, Gerry didn’t come in, another driver did, and when I asked where he was, the driver told me Gerry’s wife had passed.
A week or so later, Gerry returned. I expressed my condolences and a few weeks after that, Gerry came in holding a local newspaper. He opened the paper to show me something. It was a poem. One he had written for his late wife.
It was a beautiful poem, a testament to their love, and a remarkable way to honor his deceased wife. I was in awe of the printed words. It was unexpected. It was touching.
I remember this because Gerry, a retired auto mechanic turned delivery driver and now widower, took sorrow and used it as fuel to create something lasting. Something his family will surely remember. Something I, a casual acquaintance, will not forget.
But it’s more than just a grieving man’s desire to make something that transcends human life. Gerry, a nice old man who delivered supplies, took it upon himself to become a poet that day. He reduced the idea of creation to something as simple as: ‘I made this, and I’d like to show it to you.’
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Writing at BarryFralick.com
