Day II

The second day is usually the worst
Of all the other bitter days ahead.
The story’s still examined, and the dead
Are scrutinized, examined, and immersed
In life, as much as news reports will give ‘em,
Paving way for yet another time,
When stories fade, for yet another crime,
The final re-forgetting.  We re-live ‘em,
Going over childhood impaired,
Wondering if anything had gone
A little differently, or if, anon,
The Father will explain it, if he cared,
And, overall, dissecting, unaware
The pain of summing up who isn’t there.