Poem: Lame Duck. Sitting Duck. Dead Duck.

LAME DUCK. SITTING DUCK. DEAD DUCK.

It doesn't matter so much what "It" is
For "It" would be the same for few
That piece of you that's gone
Intimate, personal - that lame space
Only you know is there
You may try to convince yourself it doesn't matter
Shouldn't matter
Times change, seasons change
Must not we change too?
But that big gaping space
Causes you to pause, and sit, perhaps
Wondering what could take "Its" place
And again you try to convince yourself
Seasons change, times change
Must not we change too?
Still, no amount of contemplation
Can change that piece that's gone
That piece of you that's died
So you give "It" a symbolic burial
Giving the remnants to charity
Or tossing it to the flames -
Except for that one small thing you cling to
Tucked deeply into a secret space
Or carried close to your skin
Hoping that just this once
The phoenix would arise
And you could believe in reincarnation