The Good Die Young
The rest of us live.
We clean the truck's windows; wash the sheets;
press our thumbnails into our child's wrist to quiet her down;
hear the hollow thunk of our shoe connect with the dog's chin,
half accidentally;
turn cruelly from the weak; buy a little something for ourselves;
tell the joke that hardens a heart;
forget his birthday, the anniversary, our sorrow.
While we worship the good who have gone before
we can not help
but love ourselves.
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