Normal left in such a hurry
we never said a fitting goodbye
It’s for the best, you say.
You never did care for the clinging
and histrionics due before parting,
the bittersweet juice of adieu
the period drama of Godspeed.
You don’t really care for music, do you?
or what our inheritance will be
in the world’s reduced circumstances
our wits and our ability to pit them
ever dubious in value now have
lesser relevance. My way with
words, your means of silence
your secret chambers locked
doubly down, my charming latchkey.
It is, I say, impolitic to blame
the world for not wishing to die
your role was always to convince
me – henceforth, still, and yet.