The Day Dan Dennett Died

You were back from the oncologist,
And the pharmacy, and groceries,
Nowhere town, doing this, doing that,

And you flipped open your crumbed laptop
To inform everyone of your news,
You might live! And it said he was dead.

He must have argued with everyone
At some point or another, even
Nobodies like you, even the ones

Who thought to outflank him on the more
Material side, hinting he was
Really idealist, to his face.

Oh, no he was not, he let you know.
Does it matter now? Of course it does.
Ideas are nothing if not matter,

But it doesn’t matter now to him,
One human animal with a brain
Certain it was cranes, all the way down.

It’s too bad you’re no Frank O’Hara,
Too bad Dennett was no holiday,
But he did look you straight in the eye

And listened like fury when you spoke,
Before he shook that domed, beard-maned skull
To correct you, who’s still uncorrected.