Monday, June 9

On death

You were dying in an ICU
In a 5 ft wide bed
With another old man
Dying beside you
He came before you
Was much older also
But you overtook him
True to your habit
I remember the days
When you would wake up first
And read the paper first
So you over took
This slow rickety bullock
Of a man
Who was 90 years of age
He was waiting to die
His relatives tired of his speed
Left his bedside
To rest enough
To come back
When he got his act together
And died
But you had no such patience
You died
Without much thought
And little restraint
Like a newspaper
That dies every sunset
Lies cold and crumpled
And completely read
That evening
It carried the news of a man
Who died
Survived by a proper widow
Two deviant daughters
And a dutiful son

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