Grief need not wait
for the Reaper’s somber work,
even as your once heroic body
still strides the earth without support.
This I ought to celebrate—
this nobility yet incarnate.
But as the shadow of the scythe
falls upon your door,
sorrow overtakes me, stealthy,
from behind, displacing
all pleasure from my mind.
I’ll be in you place soon enough—
and so I grieve for both of us.
-
After flunking out of art school, Alan Abrams spent many years working in motorcycle shops, and traversing the country, solo, on two wheels. Always a tinkerer with words, his stories and poems have been published in literary journals and anthologies in the US, UK, and Ireland. His poem “Aleinu” published by Bourgeon, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He has recently completed his first novel.
