Reconsidering the space I occupy
Doubting ingrained abilities
Unlike the newspaper boy
Flinging papers with acute accuracy; I
Could write an account of his daily endeavors,
His character and his angst, but never
His spirit.

He keeps it hidden
And I hate to pry.

Boundaries keep me at arm’s length,
Shame keeps my eyes closed
To his horrors; when I look, I cannot
Kill him. And that’s a shame.

I’ll only buy a newspaper to read
My own obituary,
With all it’s unglorified journalism of names,
Dates- just the facts, ma’am-
Because that’s all it will be: a fact of the matter.
No pretty lines or vibrant colors.
And that will be my space
With no reconsiderations left to ponder,
Abilities will be halted
Dead on the spot.

The newspaper boy will kiss his children
On the forehead before tucking them
Into bed. After making love to his wife,
And just before deep sleep, he will recall
A time when he had no doubt
Of his accuracy.

Perhaps he will reconsider his space.

©Jen2012 1-15