Post Mortem


I never had a lover die before,
but unexpected circumstances struck
a former friend with cancer cells, that tore
his toe to turn his thread amok.
And now I learn my angry ex-spouse died
when driving home a Friday month ago.
Nobody has suggested suicide,
but he suppressed depression like a pro.

Now memories of wilderness I shared,
and strategies and sex once put in play,
will not have life except in me. Compared
to tragedy, I can’t complain. But hey:
I never reckoned, till these men were missed,
two rooms I dwelled within do not exist.

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