Shadow Dog Press

Stumbled across the obituary at precisely 12:00,
The usual time for mid-year New Year’s resolutions
As the drunkenness turns to queasiness
And the pleasure starts to sting.

26 and two days counting;
Didn’t even have the glory of 27,
Just a halfway thought-out header
That read, “Showed Promise.”

Showed promise for what exactly?
Capitalistic success?
Perhaps a Wikipedia page
Or picture on a restaurant wall?

Anyhow, it didn’t matter;
Whatever promise was shown had faded
Unless there was an accompanying suicide note
To inspire posthumous adulation.

Wandered to the cemetery the next morning,
Paid respects from a stranger
Which are sometimes sincerer
Than the rehearsed well-wishes of a friend.

Assured him he was more
Than what he had not yet become
And that what he already was
Was all he ever needed to be.