I hate sitting in the front row
The eyes of grateful hundreds
Trained on the back of my head.
Close enough to hear the ruffle of papers,
To see the tears, and take in the details of a face
(as words are shared and old stories spread)
That has always been familiar, yet is now
Looking quite unlike I’ve ever seen it.
How odd, since I was born I’ve kept track.
I wish I wouldn’t have noticed
Ah, If only I was seated further back.
What an awful day to be special
To hold a place of honor and distinction
Sitting across from you for the longest time in years.
Close enough to smell the flowers,
To see the whites of the eyes in the poster they hung
Of a face so young
And wrung
out by years I wasn’t yet alive to see.
Here’s to the years
To the years I missed,
The years that were stolen,
The years of effort, all to delay
Having a front row seat, to your going away.
