Poem

Alone in mourning, sorry for myself
Tender, calculated words are presented to me
Like smooth flat stones on a beach
Nice, harmless
I feel no anger towards a rehearsed speech
I rehearsed one myself this morning as I put on my black bow tie
Short, definite, with a period at the end
I will utter it today and other days no doubt
People will walk by me and be sorry
As I am
I will have to say something
As will they
What else can one expect?
What else is one supposed to say?
There’s nothing except the words
When you want and don’t want the exact same thing
Stow it away until you can be sure?
The smooth flat stones
I remember stepping on them
When I walked in wet bare feet around the beach house
Built on ancient wooden stilts driven into the dunes
I must have
They covered the beach
We never could skip them because the water was too rocky
It was a laugh we had
Too sharp and rocky for smooth stones
But there they were
A waste, I suppose