The Last Hurrah

Cars line the curb - last hurrahs, the last of pseudo praises, or as Mom would say in the midst of a eulogy "Do I know this person"? Praises never thought of while life strode so proudly blind. As the bumble bounces on the hydrangea, sadly, other blossoms are forgotten while the most proud was overappreciated. How many days/years until my blossom is forgotten - left to pink and wither in winter's shadow then pale and blown away before spring knows it's missing ...or even cares. I'd much rather a fist raised in anger and celebration "The bastard's finally dead!" - Not a whisper when parting, "You got a tee time for Monday?" The cars line the curb, yet will they leave simply thankful they came "for the family" or will they give a damn … pause and say "I will miss him".