This poem is in an experimental state….meaning I just might rewrite it or eliminate it altogether. In case you need clarity, it is a conversation. Everyone dies and so do things and ideas and restaurants where people build relationships and break hearts and mend minds……
They’re shutting down.
Points to a memory.
Something shuts, a window, a door,
A conversation over a particular flavour.
Couldn’t they try, floundering fish,
To stay alive?
Life goes on.
It’s full on weekends.
What’s the point?
Chains rust too you know.
They lose their sparkle
As the young keep coming, keep coming
Can you stop the stampede?
They look the other way.