Nineteen and Just as Dead

Nineteen and just as dead as the ninety-year-olds from last week.
I clip the obit, tuck it into my yearbook, next to the other kid's.
He was different. He was sick. We accepted it.
But Dustin was a horse, never even got a cold.
He was normal, more than normal.
We played cards in sixth grade, talked.
A week ago, he was making the same plans I am.
I wonder how that sort of thing happens,
how the choices are made,
how the body knows when to just click out and stop.
I miss the thought of him.
I worry for my boy, the one I picked,
nineteen and just as healthy as Dustin was.
I don't want to be afraid.
I don't want to cry, either.
The tears just come and come.