Reminders of the Cycle

People are dying all around me,
I say to Kay, exhausting a puff of smoke.
She stares off, leaning to look beyond
her ceiling at the starlight. Her words bounce off
the back of her teeth
and back to her breath. She looks at me.

And I repeat.
Oh, she says.
And she don't care.

She never did have a way with sad stories,
helpless people. Just lays still,
heaving curiosity across interstate highways
in light of a bad economy and tired music.

She's cold with relativity, immune to heroics,
and a lot like family.
So I shut up and let her confirm through loose silence
that we all outgrow better days.