Saturday, March 12, 2016
Elegy
Re The Sum, or wherever you are,
The Very Most Important Question
Asked to say a few last words for a man
of fewer medial ones.
Quiet wit came to mind, though the latter
word’s a stretch.
Quizzed some of his friends. Actually loud
in one instance proved steady he. Delightfully
bizarre in another.
Those two departures formed my remarks.
Why do people so want to hear of our
UNcharacteristic moments?
We’re proud, they’re tired, of all the others.
Labels: death, elegy, last words, personality, quiet wit
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Exits Three
-My Aunt Betts, who never swore, unleashed a blue streak
when dying.
-Was she horribly disappointed in life?
-Quite the opposite. Laughed more than her share.
-Then, why do you suppose...?
-Became available.
...
-Randolph, the horse, found solace as we read
Kierkegaard to him.
-Did the vet recommend?
-Said it wouldn’t hurt. Being and Nothingness.
-That’s Sartre!
-What the hell’s a horse care?
...
-The professor explained a paradox as he expired.
-Were you edified?
-Mumbled too much.
-As in life. Where do you suppose lost words go, anyway?
-The air. You walk into them.
-And then act?
-Not if you can help it!
Labels: blue language, death, deathbed, horse, Kierkegaard, last words, paradox, professor, Sartre
