Here lies Peter Bloch
A giant man with a tiny smock
that he uses to cover his shirt when he paints
and hangs on the hook when he ain’t
Peter visited us in Irving
but drove away (the car was swerving)
Now we miss him very much
I hope to see him again, and such
You could have at least written this poem with some kind of play on Tennyson's In Memoriam stanza. Honestly, Paul, I find your lack of pedantry disturbing.
I didn't think of the title until I had already written it. Guess I'm getting lazy in my old age.