Baby Boomer Poem by Morgan Michaels

Mario's brother is dead. In Brazilia
of the green and yellow flag, at the matches
where we drink beer and watch them run.
All of a sudden. A shock.
Just when he was finally getting happy-
leaving behind a wife and child

Who will fortunately want for nothing
except him, of course.
But that longing, too. passes. Everything does.
It makes us ashamed to be old
though we are not, in fact, that-
hailing from the generation that never dies.

'Thanks for sharing, ' I text.
'Joy is short and troubles many.
There is still that ideal configuration
of Reality we call 'the Beautiful'
and those who struggle to see it.'
-But it doesn't sound real. I delete it.

May he rest in peace, ' I next text,
and it sounds good. This is it.
'May he rest in peace.'