the disappeared

The Disappeared

The man, in our village, who died last
year is now entirely forgotten, since
he passed away- before Christmas-
someone else had to come kill the pigs.

His wife has shed her mourning dress
has got a lover, he arrives late at her
house and leaves at dawn; we know
and decorously pretend we don’t

It is a bit frightening to realize who
quickly the deceased are forgotten,
it must be so it’s good for our ego
to see how insignificant we are.

There is a new killer of pigs now, he
lives in the next village and it is said
he’s even better at it then the one who
expired; what was his name again?

As I write these meager lines millions
have died, some in agony we cannot
shed tears for the world’s monotony,
forget and welcome the newborns.

So, hold on to life do not strangle it
with impossible demands of longevity
smell the rose they are demises perfume
and hope you’ll see tomorrow’s sunrise.