The men appear to be outliving the women. They show up now At the funerals With their so-called Friends. Companions. How quick to judge Are the youngest And supposed Most pious. Let her soul rest, They say. It’s only been Six months, They say. He’s never been alone, The others say. He’ll die as soon …

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Do your push ups in the sun, little one. Still spastic, plastic, After all these millennia. We rule the school now! Yet, We’re as big as we’ll ever be. You still have a chance, to dance To pulverize our little bones In your jaws of life.  

Mall Sweats

The final fleeting days, of the dying year, most long for sweatpants. Preserve comfort. Hide side fat. Fashion. At the mall, in this agonizing transition, wear leather ones. They have them now. They foster tranquility and couture. They show you haven’t given up on it all. Not yet.