Dead Before He Died
Living the long and meaningless life
Oh, too cold, I won’t go.
It’s too hot, I want to stay inside.
So late, so late, please take me home.
No thanks, one glass my limit.
Love, oh no, what if she left.
Sex, no, no… me naked
with a stranger? Disgusting?
Slow down, slow down driver,
you drive too damn fast.
Only one cookie please, no
more for me, must keep
the discipline, stay lean.
Ten o’clock, time for bed.
Six o’clock, time for work.
Talk to strangers… why?
I don’t know them? They
don’t know me, ugh!
No, never been, it
seems so far away, why
would anyone go there?
Pray? Why pray to a God
who doesn’t know me?
He died in his chair
by the window, book
in his hand, stacks of books
unread covering his desk.
His cat on his lap, purring
softly, waiting, just waiting.
He lived alone, died alone,
mourned by none, missed
by few, maybe the cat.
His body still there.
No one believes he is dead.
How could he be dead
if he never lived?
