Thursday, August 18, 2016


Cut to—me
feeling unsure
how I'm supposed to

when I hear
the news

that a casual
friend's pet has died,
the stubbornest way—old age.

Just me, sitting
in my kitchen, poignantly not
sipping coffee, as if thinking—

you never really
beat these
sorts of things,

exactly. You only
become them, one
by one, your hairs gray, you take

on their features—
until gradually,
nobody asks

how you're
feeling anymore
(is the camera still zooming?)

because its so
ly obvious.