morning reading

Usually during the toast and jam
section of breakfast, after the entré —
porridge or whole grain cereal —
we discover who died.

I am reading the comics,
sometimes the editorials
and letters to the editor —
often directly from heaven
it would seem —
offering a complete diet of
all forms of humour,
which I find a necessary
aspect of bundling up
my carcass for such adventures
as the day may bring.

But usually, my attention is drawn
from across the table
to the thinning ranks
of the pre-boomer
(pre-WW2) generation,
which is dropping like
flies into a very attractive
manure pile.

Oh, look: old sandy-arse died;
I thought he’d shuffled off
ten, fifteen years ago.

There is a difference
I think
between dying
and being physically dead.
I am hoping to live long
before and after
my physical death.
At least, that’s what
those who weep and wail
at funerals tell me,
and I am religious
in that belief.

The religious folk
who are self-proclaimed experts
on how wonderful death is
seem to be very weepy
when it actually happens.
Is it jealousy or perhaps
uncertainty that so
inflames their eyes?

That’s our morning reading, anywho.

(Visited 20 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in aging, Boppin', Mild-mannered opinion, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *