Sipping fine coffee with an old friend; talking,
new ideas pop up —
frog eyes emerging from behind the lilypads
of a long-neglected pond.
I can’t wait for
their deep singing to begin…
the music of the moment,
or maybe it will be made to last;
either way, I’ve not been near this water
in far too long.
When you watch a real person die it’s rather unremarkable, or it can be.
It can be slow and drive you to a feeling like impatience but less self-centered.
It can be counting breaths per minute and saying is that it? was that it? no, not yet.
It can be wondering if it’s always this boring to say goodbye.
It can be wondering if you said goodbye before the slipping had progressed too far.
Did the goodbye take, as if its envelope had not been sealed and it had slipped out?
You search the floor with one eye for it, even as the last breath goes pillowy out the door.
Of course for variety there are the violent and sudden deaths which are not boring.
Really, how many of those do you really see, depending of course on your residence?
We shouldn’t count the theater deaths of media in considering this.
But seriously, how many?
Admit it, there was one, wasn’t there?
A car crash you couldn’t take your eye from?
A knifing that you happened upon and looked away from?
Maybe one you had a hand in?
It has certainly most likely not been a huge number in any case.
Unless, perhaps, you were a soldier?
Were there so many then that you were bored even with those?
You may be now a expert, an aficonado, of these things.
You may understand many, many flavors.
Perhaps you’ve watched one of those boring, long deaths since?
Perhaps you said as no one but you watched that expiration,
“Go, then…Easy…There you go.”