It becomes interesting with age,
how things end, how one ends. 
I don’t remember when
my parents began reading obituaries
in the local paper, ticking off
the names and vinculations,
fixing the dead in the genealogy
of the town in which they would
essentially die and be interred. 
Never a local, deaths escape me,
surprise me, months, years
after their immediate fact.

But yes, I read the obituaries
of strangers, often disappointed
by lack of specifics.  The ages
are of interest.  It’s as if my seating
group has been called to board
for the last flight, and we’re
gathering possessions before
going down the ramp.  We’re already
past security, and the girl at the gate
will check my passport and ticket,
insist on putting my carry-on
through to its final destination.

– Douglas K Currier