Sophie’s lengthy with opaque eyes
And more life than you
Crawled into your lap the way animals do
To the corner of a house’s less traveled room
When they sense the end, though still not as sad as when
You leave town
And that’s a trip we aren’t keen on
Packed our bags like morons
Years to prep, all told
The turnpike is full of tolls
Saving your breath, from what was left
One shred of acuity
Amid heavy talks out of earshot
Closure for you and me
Mom later said, “Was he talking to you?”
You don’t know the half
I feel, well I never
Not smart, maybe clever
In the front pew, we bring ourselves to speak
“Good work this week”
You should know what you’re named for
Cutting rugs on dancefloors
Now our hearts, open sores
I’ll down mine, up yours
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