I know exactly how to die
I watched my friend’s dad do it
I remember feeling shocked
Watching him defog his glasses
Hitting the corners in a room with a cobweb duster
Running back to the store
Exchanging unsalted butter for salted butter
Going into his office to concentrate
On a detailed restaurant review
After being served an overdone steak
His baldness was pure
No shadow or stubble offering hope for rebirth
He seemed to need a reminder
That he was dying
I wish I could’ve told him
That I whisper, ‘keep moving,’ to
myself
Every morning because of him
Leave a Reply