Baby Boomer
Mario's brother is dead. In Brazilia
of the green and yellow flag, at the matches
where we drink beer and watch them run.
All of a sudden. A shock.
Just when he was finally getting happy-
leaving behind a wife and child.
Who will fortunately want for nothing
except him, of course.
But that too passes. Everything does.
It makes us ashamed to be old
though we are not, in fact, that-
hailing from the generation that never dies.
'Thanks for sharing, ' I text.
'Joy is short and troubles abound.
There is still that ideal configuration
of Reality we call the Beautiful
and those who struggle to perceive it.'
-But it doesn't sound real. I delet it.
May he rest in peace, ' I next text,
and it sounds good, yes, this is it.
'May he rest in peace.'
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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