The Next Thing You Hear of Me Will Be That I Died

More than miles
or months, days, and even years
How or why really doesn’t matter now.
It is one of those things
that just is.
Maybe you think of me
now and then.
On my birthday, perhaps,
or when one of those songs plays
on the radio.
A memory could float past
from an old picture
or a story someone else was telling.
Remember that time. . .
Remember when. . .
Perhaps there is a time when a thought
of me might float past.
But then maybe
not at all.
Maybe not at all.
Maybe the next time
you think of me;
Maybe the next time
you hear my name
will be when I died.

Michael Mathews
October 12, 2018
8:14 AM
Rainy fall day on the lake in my RV
From “Maybe Home is Calling My Name”