I sensed the end was near when
I heard The Voice call out to me,
“Kill the light, I’m tryin’ to sleep’ here!”
I had awakened
in a dead hour,
a sharp pain in my chest
radiating down my left arm, so
I rose,
swollen ankles like elephants,
temples pounding despite the Ibuprofen,
vision blurry even post Visine,
mouth desert dry though I’d rinsed with Act,
that shoulder crick aching and
persistent back pain throbbing,
I ambled, stumbled, fumbled to
the bathroom
ruminating on my waning life,
energy zapped,
memory fogged,
ambition thwarted,
arthritic fingers,
hearing aids,
bifocals,
Medicare card in a laminated pouch to evade stains,
orthopedic sneakers,
holding me together
like a mummy,
my youth reduced to a gauzy slow-mo movie vignette,
boozy bachelorhood a blur,
marriage,
two decades raising children
who then abandoned me
to live their own lives,
a robust career that ultimately
mattered not,
bills still due,
the lawn unmowed,
I began to ponder my failures,
omissions,
half-assery,
enormous ego,
smug male vibrato,
and for what,
so I could die unceremoniously like this,
stomachache churning, burning,
bowels angry like fire ants?
I dropped to the floor, the tiles cool relief,
and prayed that I not die here
of all places,
that I at least be granted time to dress myself,
maybe comb my glorious hair
or pop a breath mint,
when The Voice returned and,
quite lovingly,
barked,
“What did you expect when you ate Taco Bell?”