Still Early Days

Is to ask tantamount to
wringing the kids' necks?

What is over the next ridge
is also before it, apparently.
A scattering of dead kids'
parts and ridge things.
And we in this, trudging,

are trying to make a small
concerted statement
in honesty like: "I loved you,
once," or "Even through
everything is dead, we

last," but comes out
as "Always," or "I
am still very sad
about this after
a long time."

There are so many of you. Things seem to have changed. I'm waiting.

I am waiting for you, holding two coats, this is stupid.

I see you, I think. And there again I see you, I am certain. THERE ARE TWO PEOPLE IN THE LOBBY WHO LOOK EXACTLY LIKE YOU!

You are getting closer and closer to me; standing against a wall; nearer, inspecting a blood-sugar meter and insulin pump? (I don't recall you diabetes); sitting on a bench and stealing the odd glance at me and then not, drinking a bottle of Evian, who never drank your water flat.

You are both circling the information desk waiting for the free hours to begin (are you not still flush from selling your majority shares of the Corporation at, presumably, the exact right moment?).

THREE! You also have just come from the gift shop. You are on the bench, eyes and lips as pouty as the time I kissed your wrists at your grandfather's funeral. Right in front of everyone.

Now you are all gone.

Is that you holding the green Panda Express cup? No it's not.