by M.R. Smith

I made the obituaries today,
not me, exactly, but someone
who shares my name.
What a shock to my already
weak conformation, such that
I had to go and lie down.
I thought about my deeds,
few certainly compared to my
namesake, whose life story listed
accomplishments galore, survivors
myriad, reviews rave. I lay
with my fingers laced across
my rising chest – bad idea! I flung
them to my sides. After some
thought, I turned to my left
to curl up in a tight ball. All
else seemed funereal.

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