Sunday, November 27, 2005

Grief is a Pair of Shoes, Standing Empty

You might think death hasn't fazed you
As you stroke his quieted brow and then later
Stand at attention, unshakable
As they gurney his lifeless shell out of the bedroom
Into the waiting van.
Acting the part of stoic honor guard,
You think: "This isn't so hard
Staring directly into the face of death"
Only to be knocked flat, days later
In a stealth attack from the closet.
You fool - death doesn't leave with the body.
It stays behind, lurking in the pockets of worn bathrobes,
Empty cough drop wrappers,
In a pair of loafers, waiting to go out.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?