Someday,
later rather than soon,
I hope,
I shall be a memory.
Maybe my sister, Brenda
though my senior,
by then brittle to the
point of creaking,
will say to her, then,
happy spouse, Gabe,
“Remember Ken? Remember my brother?
He’s gone now. We always had fun!”
Perhaps my grandson, Brandon,
may remember early September
by the sea shore,
or, his sister, Brenna,
learning to swim in the pool,
or,
my lovely wife, Nancy, who, because
I could not be without,
I will have passed on first,
will smile at a picture,
she and I, costumed in a play,
The Mystery Of Edwin Drood, I think,
a script that was just the
first act of an eternity of
kissing, on stage and off,
smiling.