no one will care

the sounds i hear now are hollow

just as i read in college when i studied English Lit and came upon an unassigned poem by TS

that I found in the dusty back shelves of the Minerva library

i was hollow in college

and still am, too — perhaps the hollowest of men

and when i die, no one will care

there will be no child to carry on

no procession of the conflicted to carry my splendid casket.

when my mother died, no one cared

they took as much of her money as they could, and then they walked away

i have tried to remember bettertimes

before my mother died

 

way before when we were like brother and sister in the 50s

she a young english woman from the midlands

me the spawn of whatever my parents were

 

i dream now, often, of horrible things

of having been forced to leave my country

 

but i am ashamed

i am ashamed of how i acted

when i was handsomer than you can possibly imagine

and could get away with anything

 

and then i drank

and drank

and drank some more

 

oddly, despite all the drinking, the good looks remained — until they didnt

 

when i die

no one will care

and neither will I.