He lived like he knew
it would make for good speeches
at his funeral
you know the type
you want to be them
audacious
brilliant
nonconformist
but my pedestal knows better now
it’s packed with a slurry
of forgettable minutes
strung into life
between the highlights
like tonight
my husband used each street sign we passed
to make up a story
about kings and pudding
even here
I can’t help
but draw your attention
to the sparkle
the quietest moments
are the hardest
to remember
such a strange world
that we pity the dead
about whom one can only say
he was so very kind.