untitled

when you have news
of death,
walk down to tell them.

no, don’t pick up
that vulgar machine.
look them in the eye
and say the words.

consider the syllables.
do they colour
your steel gray memory
of him,
do they hang
quietly
like the smoke
from his cigar?

remember
in their unknowing
he lives still,
until your words
take him away.

if only to delay
your own guilt,
walk down to tell them.