soup

rocky colavito
a good friend of mine died last night.
he was eighty-four years young old.
his last words to me were pretty ambiguous
because i guess he figured
there wasn’t anything
that needed explaining, blah.
he said,
“i’ve left the party because i wasn’t having any fun.”

every morning up until today, i’ve gone for a walk.
today, i’m jogging.
i’m only doing this for one reason.
you see,
when i used to watch people running
past my window–
younger or sometimes, hopefully, my age,
i’d wonder
how they could keep it all so together.

with good reason,
there’s a sudden, sharp pain in my side and in my chest.
it hurts and it doesn’t,
but i’m beyond the window.
perhaps, i can even make it as far as helen’s now,
so i can tell her how–

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