(For Danny Welborn)

~
Some say in dying,
you get what you get;
 
a suicide number
on someone’s hit list.
 
A social statistic;
a news item flair;
 
a cousin of cousins
may hear it somewhere.
 
First comes the daughter,
too pretty, unfair;
 
then falls a baby,
it couldn’t breathe air.
 
The last one, a fair one,
of crippling disease;
 
no wonder, dear brother,
you’re down to your knees!
 
Depression, repression;
expression,      oh please!
 
Where is the hope
when all the joy leaves?
 
And the world will just roll on.
There’s news overseas.
 
People at home
are in a deep freeze.
 
Fires and mudslides,
and newborn babies,
 
the world will still roll on
and forget about these.
 
A sister was privy unto it.
Alas! that she couldn’t believe.
 
She just didn’t think you would do it –
Too much in despair to conceive.
 
The police there told you to drop it;
Go, hands up to the ground;
 
but this would be last of your profit,
and the cops gave you, each one, a round.
 
You didn’t go quick as you hoped for.
Death took some hours, or more.
 
Cause Death takes its time,
Neither yours nor not mine,
 
and cares one wit less
if you’re down.
~
 
 
©2014, Marvin Welborn
28 March 2014.