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Tony Gentry

Mementos – a poem

Updated: May 17

Seem to have reached the age where we're dropping like flies. This poem:

We say “passed” as if they’d tossed a football.

Some use “transitioned” so you imagine a Star Trek transporter beam.

It doesn’t help.

Lately it seems not a month goes by. . .

until I hear myself tell the boys, “You want a reliable career? They’re called funeral directors now.”

I need to get out, get on with it. Live on in their name, as we say.

But it does get lonely in here.

Like when you think of a joke that only they’d get and look around to finger some trinket left behind.

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