A poem in advance of a birthday
They say to live you have to die. Ya, sure, but not really, they don’ t mean it that way, they mean ‘philosophically ‘, it’s all very mysterious, hush hush, and nod, don’t you know…
I hate it all, the death, and the bullshit “dying” like they’ve never grieved like they ” know”.
After 60 nobody should celebrate a birthday unless maybe to say “Thank you, whoever, for another undeserved year.”
Death is coming You feel it in every way, in the hesitation climbing a stair, the moment you see a person you know you know but somehow you don’t, quite the incomplete shoulder check you think you really should do it again, did you see anything actually? and for twice as long, except you’d stray into the other lane and, that would be that. The End.
as good as any other really, isn’t it? endings I mean. Those i love. dumping the relationship, the job, the apartment, the friend. moving on
There’s no life like it. There’s no life like that. There’s no life that makes you like it. There’s no life. In the end, that’s it.
No worries.
Happy Birthday
www.carscaddenfuneralchapel.com/obituary/robert-bob-labossiere
