Twenty-eight family and friends click on the Zoom link
to watch family and friends talk about you:
how much fun you used to have playing guitar, catching fish, snowmobiling.
All of the drunken escapades that seem, from the videos, like a blast at the time
but in the aftermath appear tragic.
Sixty years of revelry reduced to thirty minutes of reminiscence.
It’s all well and good–
all the laughter, the partying, the joking around–
until someone falls over and dies.
And a daughter holds her phone without answer, holds onto her dog, holds back tears,
holds open the hole through which you escaped.