“It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
‘Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise — depths unplumbable!”
“Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
‘I thought he died a while ago.’
“For life’s a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.”
— From John Updike‘s forthcoming collection, “Endpoint and Other Poems.” Posted today in the N.Y. Times Op/Ed section.
