It's Never The End

You think it's the end once you're gone - you're wrong
We still have to clear up when it's all over
Bills to pay
Insurances to claim
What to do with your shirts and underwear
We still have to clear up - life doesn't clear itself
Leave our heartaches by the door for the afternoon
Until we're done
Packing your books into brown cardboard boxes
Stacking them in a corner of your room
Dismantling your bedframe
Sweeping out your dust -
Then, and only then
We step out in our sweat
Put on our own shoes
Pick up our own sorrows
Grieve in our own time -

P.S. It's a surreal feeling overcoming to know when I've written something decent. The great irony is that I wrote this in my sobriety. Perhaps, I could attribute this decency to having had three consecutive nights of beer. Are they causally related? Probably. Probably not.