It's amusing the noise
the living make.
Listen the next time
a friend says he's done.
No more. All gone.
It isn't fair to Mary.
An airless silence. Then,
as if to sanitize the crime scene,
a broad exhale
sweeps across extinction.
Those three feet, maybe four
that serrate life and death.
They give you other options
but morphine's best.
One body making abrasive rasps
like the IRT brawling into Fulton,
clashing, blurring, fading to steam
Mike Jurkovic