On the day a good man dies,

the memory of your worthless life

is brought into focus

as if the

eye test

you have been putting off

because you know how blind you

have become, confirms your worst fear

and the slow satisfying nod of the optician

as he tells you of the need for two sets

of new and expense ridden glasses, that

memory of the good man’s life is all

you can see…

and the memory burns shame and insignificance

into your eyes.