To go in a puff of feathers, a glory of days,
Soft as clouds of air
Gone – gone – gone.
There are worse things,
Lying there
Suffering in white sheets – tethered to machines’
Endless beeping – intake and outtake monitors -
The blue of fluorescent lights pulsing about you.
A constant parade of people checking, checking, checking,
Reluctant to let you go in case they might save you.
            ‘For what?’ is the unasked question.
            ‘For what – please?’
It’s late in the day for golf.
Americans fear death like quiet.
            Both are becoming hard to find.
            Shop Rite makes me bless my deafness.
 
Feathers and glory
It isn’t all bad to explode out of life
Rather than wait for some soul to pull the plug or
An electrical storm to do what people fear.
            Please God send a power outage -
            I’m outta here.