How Well You Lived

All those little things you do
Not so much to make someone

Notice, not so much in hope
Of someone noticing you,

But on the off-chance someone might
And then evaluate you,

All those ten thousand small things,
Those little rearrangements

Just in case, and here you are,
Awaiting diagnosis

As it slowly dawns on you,
You’ll probably have to go

Before any of those things,
Those myriad careful things

Get noticed by anyone,
Anyone other than you.