I've considered working at a home,

you know, filled with elderly, geriatric

men and women in faded clothes

and wrinkled skin with walkers with

tennis balls stuck on the legs,

because I love meeting people with

stories to tell and listening to stories

without really committing much of

myself to the narrative, not telling any

more about myself than the bare

minimum of what needs to be known

but then I realize that I can't deal

with death, which is inevitable, even

when people say it won't happen for

a while, but growing attached to someone

living at the home and having them

pass away might be too much for me

because all my relationships are based

around the fact that no one, no one

I have any personal attachment to,

has died, which is not to say that

they've never ended because, let's

face it, people change and friendships

end, but no one has died and when it

does eventually happen, I see myself

being stunted, emotionless, hiding

behind that same stupid smile,

and maybe that's the most scary thing,

not being able to show how much I

care about someone once they've

passed from the physical plane, this

silly place where we grab onto each

others' hands and stamp our feet in

the dirt and watch sunsets and walk

with little tennis balls on the legs

and meet stories with people to

tell just so I don't have to commit

myself to the narrative.