Obits

By John J. Ronan

A vivid obit enlivens the day.
Like the plural wife, a devout Mormon,
“Who pioneered the art of grain storage.”
Or the ruggedly handsome movie star
“Whose first seven marriages ended in divorce.”
You see? They walk among us as before.
Most papers add a place and date,
Unbroken pre–deceased, survivor lines,
A career capsule’s tactful nod to cause —
The obligate “courageous battle with cancer,”
At times a wry, deflective, “unexpectedly at home.”
The first journalists painted totems and caves,
A public service to extended, unlettered clans,
Evolving later to papyrus rolls or clay,
The limestone walls of temples, tombs,
Beatifying bios etched in hieroglyph or rune —
Surely, the youngster Tut “had a smile for everyone.”
Today, megabytes of text and pixel describe
The sad passing of citizens renowned
For elected office, stardom, massive wealth,
The local guy and gal witnessed in turn
By “avid bowling,” or “blue–ribbon pies,”
A brave insistence keeping the obit alive.