TOO MUCH

(Dedicated to some I knew, whether male or female) What would I do if somebody called And said you were dead? There’s accidents all around And plenty of diseases that go unbound, Not to mention mordant murders That come to us, that deeply strive, Out of the soft sweet blue— It could happen, but. What would I do then? I’ve never thought of you like that, As less than alive, Though I expect it of myself. How long would it take for me to cry, I wonder? Would it be one minute or five? It wouldn’t matter much when I started When the real problem would be, When would such sorrow ever end? Could I forget you, or forget to grieve? It doesn’t seem so; I guess that’s why I’ve never thought of it. It’s too much to ever bear— A death that would end the world, yet never end! We’ve known each other all these days, Tattered decades gone by now— So young when we met, Almost elegant then, compared to now, And sometimes even yet in remembrance Each thinks such beauty of the other, Though we may seem so awkward, Maybe even graceless, to ourselves— Good gracious, ring the bells, Our health much gone to hell, Whether we only feel it in the nerve Or in our backs Or it shows somehow in our drooping flesh, Whether it’s by many ways or only one. It hardly matters to any but ourselves Because it’s just a hard-luck story And so hard to keep track of— Everyone grows old, except those who don't! But I know, I mean I don’t know, What would I do if that long-distance call came for me And somebody said you were dead? Would I not soon regret Everything? Such death could not be borne.

This poem may or may not continue to be revised; if you only read it once, that may be enough for you. Still, some revisions will occur without warning. You know a poem is pretty good when it makes you weep before you can finish it--ain't poetry grand? Ain't poets crazy?