Gone now a month
Not much progress
On cleaning out your house.

Removing your memory
Before the number crunchers
Come to sell off your essence

Procrastinating with your life remnants.
Pretending life’s the same
Knowing betters the torture.

The relations in the east and the mid-west
Long ago denied.

Traveling the continents together
For 40 years.

Existing separately but inhabiting
Each other’s space.

Now you’ve left this consciousness
Leaving me to make sense of the rest.

Too soon for you
Too late for me.

Say hello to the collected beings beyond
Prove me wrong.

And let me know here if I’m
The last of the lost.

A house taken for granted
As was the occupant.

The company at night now is the
Radio and the cat.

Always more time to do what is right
Always more time….

Till there isn’t.

Janis on the jukebox,
Typing my memoirs
With my thumb on an iPhone.

A draft in front of me
The bulk of my footprints
On this earth behind me.

A week with momma in her death room,
We had done similar a few years earlier
When putting her old cat to sleep.

He had gone to sleep and stuck his tongue out
A final gesture for us, how dare we extinguish
His light.

I’m pleased mom had no such compunction.

A month since you left me.
The dying was most quick
And inconvenient.

Too much unsaid
Too quickly
Are chatting was small
And your death profound