east of Coos Bay
the last time
I talked about David
was 5 or 6 days
after the service
Leo and I
talked about
the last fly rod
the guy ever
owned
and how his third
wife left town
six months before
it happened
… and we discussed
the disappearance of
his truck
from a non-descript
stripmall
in North Las Vegas
and the eventual
disintegration of
his new outlook on life.
then
…we talked about
the end
and after that I
never
talked about David.
So…
… about 10 years later
i heard
they’d
scattered his ashes
by the lake
where he used to fish
…a long way
from Long Beach, California
…so far you’d have
to take
six buses to get there
and now
they say
he’s somewhere east of Coos Bay
“forty five”
is too young
to have done
this sort of shit
to himself
says my cousin
Margie…
…she didn’t even know
that he had a gun…
…he was too
young to have
died fishing
but he did…
…and he
didn’t tell
anyone
he was going
(fishing)
did he?
Ed's end of the planet books 
the cause of death in these cases is always a broken heart that they just can’t talk about
This is one of the more personal poems I have ever posted. So much so I almost did not post it. Just for the record, all names have been changed here. But you are probably right on in your analysis of this. It is usually a broken heart that can’t be (or they believe) can’t be fixed.
Thank you for reading.