Would be in his thirty-fifth year,
On an unremarkable day in October.
On his lunchbreak. What a travesty.
Poor boy didn't get a chance to reflect
On his life--in full or in part--
Because his life was extinguished
In a matter of seconds.
At least that's what the doctor reported.
Camera crews shot footage of the last
Place he was known to have taken a breath,
The slick suited and silver tongued journalists
Made his departure seem very dramatic and all.
Two onlookers were quoted in the local paper
As saying that they witnessed the horrific moment
And it was frightening, tragic, and clearly,
In their minds, he was gone on impact.
At least that's what's the townspeople said.
When his family, and then friends, were notified
About his passing, they took it hard, as any
Decent family or friend would--with tears.
They were both heart-broken and dumbstruck.
This poor boy would leave behind a family
Of his own, a family he did not have a chance
To bid adieu--this perhaps the greatest tragedy--
With daughters 8 and 4 and 2. There were no sons...yet.
At least that was what the family told us.
No sons and a no real job--last year he'd
Been "downsized" when his employers
Required a degree he had not yet achieved.
This year he'd been slaving for the minimum.
What his family would do after his passing,
No one could be quite certain,
Though some were already talking
About her old high school boyfriend.
At least that was the talk around town.
His children cried themselves to sleep,
Clinging to one another with tight grip
And worried, hushed whispers.
These kids were concocting a plan of sorts.
"What are we to do? What would dad want?"
Futilely, they attempted to find some solace
In doing what they could to please their father,
Believing in their hearts he would be watching them.
At least that was what the shrink said.
But no one ever dared to venture a guess
As to what happened to this poor boy--
Whether he had been laid to an eternal rest
Or awakened elsewhere in a vivid dreamstate.
Morality aside--he was as decent and hard-working,
As they come--this poor boy deserved some sort
Of a break from it all. Surely he was dancing in
Fields of Rainbows, somewhere, where Skittles rained down.
At least that's what his girls said.
We can certainly hope, though never know,
Where and when and how he is,
Whether he is aware or entombed somewhere
Unable to think or do or be...
So, then, we are left to wonder if he knows
Or sees what's happening to those he left behind:
What does he think? What would he say, and
And how would he say it, given the opportunity?
At least we can wonder what he would say.
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