Death’s a daily think—getting demanding, too.
News, world, and my i-phone’s so full of it.
Lindsey, 25, of Dixie Crush is dead.
Car ran her over: died 2/17/2020,
A day before I turned 86 years.
Paisley, 7, just died in her tonsillectomy.
At 10, I lived through mine to eat ice cream.
Randomness plays all the gates of time.
Daily, coronavirus roams earth to kill,
Daily, folks kill each other as always
As continents blaze away, poles melt,
And senseless Kobe tragedy stats grow wild.
Daily, I’m sitting here stunned — knowing full well,
I can poet nothing to better this world,
Where Lindsey rhymes with Daily – Daily!
Where Paisley rhymes with Daily – Daily!
Alas, Elderly rhymes with Daily — Daily!
And so, I awoke to seize another day,
Do breakfast, laundry, the garbage out.
Life’s a daily think of Death’s daily think.
Randomness plays all the gates of time.
I cherish each dawn calling me to task.
Last year, three friends fell – broke hips and legs.
They, like Lindseys-Paisleys gather in my breath:
Breathlessly, I hold them there with loves lost —
As I strive to out-think death’s daily think —
Get about the poetries in new year’s
Resolutions and do dishes in the sink.
Aha! That rhymes. And so much still to scrub.
Perhaps something mine will shine, live off the shelf:
Serve clarity to the mind like dew on a daisy.
Randomness plays all the gates of time.

APOETESSAY — mdok – 2/24/2020 –
The A stands for Autobiographical
and for ‘Apo’kstrophes’ – and that ever
primal sound of ‘AHHHH!”