The music is always dying
and so, I'm afraid, is everything
else. I attend funerals too often,
and those mostly for ideas
like empathy and common concern.
What are the neighbors up to?
Do I even care? Is someone
in that silent house hurting? Up there
in the bedroom, how many pills
fill that rigid fist? Today the
president called himself
the chosen one, and the rest of us
just shrugged. There he goes again.
More importantly, who covered
the spread? What's on for the
weekend? Who's buying
the next round? All the buildings
have blown down on Butler St.
The cemetery trees were yanked
out at the roots and thrown
by an invisible hand at the graves.
Hey you dead, get ready.
There's company coming.