William Taylor Jr.

All The Things That Are Surely Coming

There are moments that come from nowhere
in which I realize I am perhaps more 
lonely than I’d imagined, more sad.
In my sleepless hours I consider what’s
become of me and I’m not sure what 
to make of it. I get up a while and think 
about someone who once loved me 
and is now dead. I wonder why I didn’t 
love them more, and if I should have. 
I think of a few people I did love
and wonder where they’ve gone to, 
wonder if they’d come back if I 
took the time to explain things 
a bit. I don’t imagine so. 
I think of all the things that are surely 
coming that I wouldn’t wish upon 
me or anyone. I wrote this poem 
in my head early this morning when 
I couldn’t sleep. It’s late 
afternoon now, and I’m trying 
to write it down. I think 
there was more to it, I should 
have jotted things down as they came.
I think there’s a pretty good line
that I’m missing somewhere, 
it might have tied it all together somehow.
Now I’m thinking of how nothing 
is really much after all, and how our 
dreams of immortality leave no 
impression upon the void. 
I understand my own sufferings,
such as they are, don’t register much
upon the scale of things, and I’ve made 
a peace with that. We’ve all got problems, 
as my friend is fond of saying (he’s 
not really my friend). But sometimes 
it all comes upon you unexpected, 
you know? In any case, there’s no 
need for drama. It’s 4 p.m. here
in San Francisco. The air is filled 
with ash from distant fires, and there
may be a few beers left in the fridge.

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