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The Procession

Motion blur of Japanese commuters in a station at Tokyo.

THE PROCESSION

Battle scarred and tested… Worn

Down and bested… By all of the

Little things in life… And some

Things are lost at painful cost…

And some things are merely

Misplaced… And it’s a fact of life

That if something can be stolen

It will be…

 

It’s Sunday afternoon and soon

The weekend will be over… Monday

Prepares for its assault… As perfect

Families gather around dining room

Tables… Each while dreading the

Drudgery that awaits them when

The alarm clock shatters a good

Night’s sleep at the first crack of

Dawn… As the first shard of sunlight

Spreads false hope over monotony

Pre-ordained…

 

Monday arrives…

 

But ambition prevails with the help

Of caffeine and desperation… And

Soon you work your way into a rhythm…

Trying hard to coax an ounce of true

Meaning out of just another day…

Walking on egg shells while hiding

From the mortician’s ever watchful

Eye… Trying hard to survive…

 

The hereafter can wait, thank you very

Much… You dig in your heels… Not so

Fast… There’s no rush to reap this year’s

Crop… It’s not yet time for the harvest…

 

And we know that the worse sound in

All of nature is the tick, tick, ticking of

The grandfather clock in the hallway…

Where the passage of time can be

Audibly heard… Erasing away the

Hours you may stay… To play for pay…

On this desolate island of limited time…

 

It’s a long drive to work… A funeral

Procession has traffic backed up for

Blocks… A flower car trails a limo

From which a grieving widow can be

Seen in the back… Red, yellow, and

White carnations leach color… Roses

And lilies too… The somber travesty…

The bizarre pageantry… In concealment

Of the one inescapable and universal

Truth…

 

Learn your lesson well… Make no

Mistake about it… Very important

People become unimportant corpses

When all is said and done… And so a

Widow weeps… And a titan of industry

Meets his demise… So what… There’s

So much more of value to play for while

There’s still time left on the clock…

 

Some jerk in a Jaguar runs a red light

To avoid the procession… While barely

Missing a middle-aged woman pushing

A cart full of groceries across the street…

He leans on the horn as if the woman is

At fault… What’s the rush… To save a

Second or two… He fails to get it… The

Poor dumb bastard… He doesn’t see his

Likely fate… Clueless… An unimportant

Corpse in waiting… What’s the hurry…

A life… An experience… Where common

Things are valued more than time…

 

Beauty acknowledged… Beauty taken

For granted… Either way it’s there

To be perceived… Wake up… No more

Borrowing against next year’s bounty…

Next year may never come…

 

The work day is over… Not quite

Dusk… It’s a long drive home as the

Sun deceitfully sets… A wisp of a

Cloud in an otherwise cloudless sky

Drifts overhead with no apparent

Reason for being… Inexplicable…

Lonely… But clouds… Like souls…

Need no explanation… Fathomless…

They just are…

 

And so it all comes down to this…

Men and women… Whether feral or

Refined… Humping away… Blending

DNA… All to ensure their legacies in a

Last gasp grasp for immortality… But

Hold on a minute…Immortality is now…

It’s what you make of it…

 

And the procession never ends…

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