When the last person leaves, and the silence rushes in It's hard and sudden like a blast of wind Tip the dirty dishes into the sink Take a sip of someone's watered-down drink And deflate, deflate Onto whatever furniture will hold you Let it enfold you In the suicidal dark after a five o'clock sunset Still so many hours to kill before you go to bed You miss the people you're standing right beside Eighty years of longing, then we die Things we set our hearts on All parading dumbly toward us to be born With a fanfare of music With acclamations With decorations All arriving cold and stillborn To be mourned a space And then replaced