Poem: If You Can’t Watch

by Regis Boff

Every death,
comes with its particular novelty.
While birth plods into life
with a sloppy inaccuracy,
tumbling incoherently through
the thick, sticky afterbirth,
always shackled to incomprehension.
Still we guess birth to be miraculous
while it’s endgame, death
is reviewed as a misfortune,
accompanied by a chorus of “if only’s.”
and the tardy howls of loss.
But of what good is the marvelous,
if you can’t, watch?