The Blue Pen

                          The days follow each other               We are standing in lines
                          Day after day                                       I can’t see what they’re doing
                          The same feeling of loss                    But the lines shorten

                          Always there                                       What year is this?
                          This feeling of loss                             The year of my death
                          Over and over again                          I can’t remember

                          And wanting to stop time                  I can see a doctor now
                          All the things I did not do                  With a pen in his hand
                          Too late for any of them now           The pen has a blue handle

                          So many questions in my head         It’s my turn
                          No one to answer them                     He takes my arm
                          Never to know                                     The point sinks into my skin

                          Maybe one day                                    I watch
                          When everything is over                     It burns a little
                          They will make poetry about us        A number starts to show

                          How we died here                              A - 15510
                          Yes                                                        It was not there before
                          I think they will make poetry            This number in my skin

                          It’s not only the loss I feel                   The writing is small and neat
                          It’s that I did not give                           The dash very straight
                          When I could give                                 I walk away holding my arm