Elegy: Making with the Boo Hoos

"'Please, I've done everything I was supposed to do. Can I go home now?' That's what I feel right now. I've written books. Lots of them. Please, I've done everything I'm supposed to do. Can I go home now?" -Kurt Vonnegut

Maybe life is unfortunate, friends
but perhaps we must not say so, hm?
instead only,
so it goes.  because going is a certain thing
and Empathy is unwieldy, a flickering light

but if you just must
wail and cry, making with the Boo Hoos
do so only with some honesty:
for one's own little sad self.
in sincerity, 

do not let the breaking of a toy
bring out the child's tired lie
"Oh, I am sad with pity for the thing."
it is not so,
the self-loving-self can only remember
just how gone the thing is,
and can see only the glaring, absent possession

who could ever cry over a schoolmate's
milk-soaked puzzle
or road-killed action figure in the driveway?

it is a good idea:
at a funeral
respectfully, to bust out the tape measure
and eyeball the distance
between you and another's fresh grave
nod to the casket,
and then go.