Memento Mori

I sit at my wine bar across from my cinema

I think of art and death and legacy and riches

Of the next generation

Of how I’d like to be fucked tonight

I choose a wine because it’s called memento mori

I remember I must die

The store next to my wine bar that I once worked a singular shift at is closed after 24 years

Such is the way of King Street

She houses you for a time you bask

And then the next pushes you out

My wine is supposed to remind me of death but it fizzes on my tongue and tastes like the grapes of my youth

I watch an old man eat his ice cream

And think about having a cigarette but maybe on the way home

As I pound the pavement and circle my thoughts, I can light up, inhale, exhale, remember it’s all death, and smile a little more at my own indulgence