Betsy Robin Schwartz

When Doc got drunk,

he went to Lily's and rambled

so philosophic and poetic

that no one understood

what he was saying

and he seemed like

another someone

we never knew.

A French philosopher said

that when you look at it

logically

we are all unknown

to each other.

In the end,

merely strangers

with no good reason

to float on any river.

Everyday is a repeat;

maybe a little different

but, always somewhat

the same.

Same food

Same sleep

Same shower

And yet, we do not go gentle

like the Welsh poet commands.

Each death shakes its own banyan tree.

Each breath,

each heartbeat

saws open someone's chest

with grief

when it's gone.