A year of death and dementia,
and too many friends in absentia,
with yet another memorial service
to attend.
Meanwhile, the rest of us, death’s
leftovers, selfishly celebrate our survival.
The crowds have thinned, but the game
continues into overtime.
We applaud ourselves repeatedly
as if encouraging school children,
Good job! Good job! Good job!
And meanly we keep score.
We’ve lasted one month longer,
three months, six months, a year!
Three cheers for our longevity!
By hanging on, we’ve won!
And what exactly did we win?
A belated celebration of our lives.
By whom? A ghost-filled room?
But the game goes on, as it must,
each bounce of the ball echoing
loudly off the gymnasium wall.
