A Letter Of Complaint

A poem by Marilyn Sewell.

So I just learned yesterday

That my friend Jane

Is dying:

Stage IV, lung cancer.

She never smoked,

But what does that matter?

It happens all the time

Now—

They’re dropping like flies—

Exactly like flies, as a matter of fact:

A short life span

And slam, bam, thank you ma’am.

Trudy

Got hit by a truck

When crossing the street—

Looked the wrong way, and

Whoops!

She’s dead.

Vince, ex-priest,

Who quit for love—

Parkinson’s taking him,

Breath by breath,

Word by word.

I just want to go on record—

Not that you care—

I don’t like your Plan.

Sure, it’s fine for you,

Being infinite and all—

And sure, we may be

Reincarnated,

Our tiny molecules

Shifted around, atoms rearranged

Into a fish or a frog or a cat—

But to tell you the truth,

That’s not much comfort,

Charlie.

Don’t you understand,

Ruler of the universe,

That you plant us here,

Teach us,

After many false starts,

That love is all that matters—

And then you require that

We watch helplessly

As you thump them,

These we love, one by one,

Like insects,

So carelessly off your plate,

Until we’ve nothing left.

Is that the deal, then?

To take from us

All that matters,

So that we’re content to go?

Come on—

Think about it!

If in fact you think at all—

Is this a Plan

You can be proud of?

Really?