I’m thinking that sometime soon I’m going to reinstall the code for haloscan comments on the blog. But I didn’t want to do so and lose the following poem, which commenter Corewell left in Blogger comments a few days ago. It’s worth thinking about.

The Goldfish Floats to the Top of His Life and turns over,
a shaving from somebody’s hobby.
So it is that men die at the whims of great companies,
their neckties pulling them speechless into machines,
their wives finding them slumped in the shower,
their hearts blown open like boiler doors.
In the night, again and again
these men float to the tops of their dreams
to drift back to their desks in the morning.
If you ask them, they all would prefer to have died in their sleep.

by Ted Kooser