2022-08-18T11:15:26-07:00December 21st, 2011|Musings on life|

Poor death

Poor death,
it must be frustrating
to haunt us
so ineffectively.

One problem is your ubiquity,
you are everywhere,
we are accustomed to you
like air.

Also, no one can vouch for where you take them
after the breath
turns to bone.

You are like a taxi driver
with no taxi.

I am the kind of girl
who likes to be prepared,
finds a therapist
before I need one,
earthquake kit,
soups in the freezer.

So I’d like to pay attention
to your stomping
to your lurking

live as though you really might show up
any day
to delete me.

Tonight I thought of you
while I ate an orange,
imagining it might be my last
and you were right.

The wallop of sweetness
brought me
to my knees.

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