SAGITTARIUS PONDEROSA

“Anyway, it isn’t forever,” Chris said,

“eventually you’re dead.” And we laughed

Besides, everything is better now. Not us

but implants, blenders, children, heart attacks.

There’s never been a better time to be alive

than when you are. If you are. Black-throated

blue warbler says chewchewchewchewchewww

drawing the last chew out like a sucking drainpipe

to say he has mated and is satisfied. Say what

you will about that. His joy is uncontainable

and yet it has a form, a measure, to make it clear

he’s not upset or feeling anxious. And if he’s bragging,

well, it’s no shame to brag that you’re happy.

Honeybees cavorting on the goldenrod are working

toward a common goal they’ll never see achieved.

They lay down the walls of their cathedral of honeycomb

and will not cope the spire, busy in the present task,

trusting that the work continues. I’d like to write

a children’s book called everybody dies. Upbeat, of

course, and pragmatic. You only got so many

days. Don’t think about death; when you’re

ready, death will think about you. Go out

tonight with your friends, like Chris, who went out

big or not at all. Have a ball. Plan ahead.