Eras end.
Sometimes
without the courtesy of a goodbye.
Others
more slowly,
harrowing and painful.

I hang on.
Never good at goodbyes,
I can’t yank band aids off
even though I know that
slowly pulling it
is so much worse.

I know it.
But I can’t do it.

Every goodbye is
heart wrenching as
it could be the last.

We go off to work
each day cavalierly
no second thought
to an era that might end
before the day is done.

Little Timmy grew up
and gave no though
to Puff.

I lumber through grief
like Puff
hoping through tears
that Timmy come by
just one more time
but knowing
the era ended.