Tuesday, November 20, 2007

How can it not?

After "Nothing changes, I suppose"
When he left to walk
into that oak door,
he left it half open
as if to welcome the rest of us
into the roomy comfort
of pictures, no regrets,
no age, no tired eyes,
no hangover mornings,
no embarrassing drunks.

We took note of the impact
face up, rain down
it was stupid
and stubborn
and selfish, right?

The night after we
tapped his forehead with
crucifix and sang
a couple of down-tempo songs
(echoing in the vaulted ceilings),
we armed ourselves
with strength in numbers
and drank, like Mitch had
that morning
before the funeral.

He went home early
and frequently
I think he was the only
one that really
got it.

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