“Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact.
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back.”
–Bruce Springsteen, “Atlantic City”
I don’t believe this for a second.
Neither do you. It’s the dying,
not the coming back, we doubt.
To live as if our days are reckoned
would be madness. I’d be lying
if I said I do. About
the coming darkness we don’t think
until it casts its blackness on our door.
We’re told our little lives are but a blink
of an eye, and then we are no more.
The thought of which should shake me to the core.
Instead I drink my coffee, head to work.
Turn up the volume of the song
not believing as I sing along.