throwing a shoe

her life bed
is now
her death bed.
the ones who loved
her have gathered
around,
the ones who didn't
care so much,
are there too.
everyone takes a hand,
lays a kiss
upon her cheeks,
says a word or two
awkwardly about something,
making it brief.
she knows all of this,
and sees it taking place,
but can't say or do anything
about it
which at the moment
is the most
frustrating thing for
her, not the dying
part,
the phony sadness
part. if I only had
the strength to throw
something, like a shoe,
she thinks,
waiting for the end.