Poetry - 2023

The day I die
There may be a triple rainbow
But it will not be for me
Or for the living
It will just be

The day I die
A child will be born
But not as a replacement for me
Rather as a unique being
With no expectations

The day I die
The same conflicts that raged when I was born
Will continue unabated
And the value of life will have been siphoned off
Leaving mere residue

The day I die
Some may grieve
Most will not notice
For a few a memory or two
Will bring me to mind

I am weary

Sad and angry

My once-sunny outlook shrouded in dark clouds

That refuse to dissipate

As a child born into the Cold War

And raised during the Vietnam War

I was used to hearing the nightly body count on the evening news

I was optimistic back then

Hoping Vietnam would finally teach us a lesson

But war is not a teacher

War knows only one thing – killing

And so, the recitation of body counts continues

From wars in distant lands

And wars nearby in another school, another workplace, another park

I am going to bed

Wake me when it is over. 

Front porches sit idle

Fondly remembering their past lives

Hosting lively conversations with neighbors

Balconies weep

As they recollect

When the world would pass by

Like a parade

Purveyors of the soundtrack of my life
Succumb to years of abuse and anonymity 

I mourn their loss

As though they were limbs severed in an accident

Once, as a child, I whiled away the summer months

Flying kites on the hillside

Playing Marco Polo in our neighbor’s pool

And building cliff dwellings in the rocky face above the street

Never imagining my world would ever change.