Howard Firkin
I want to die alone. I want to live
beyond my friends,
so old that no one mourns, my children cry
relief, and no one can remember what

I want to die without the benefit
of being held,
of being cosseted, of being warm.
I want the creeping misery of weak

I want to hear my stories fizzle out,
the endings lost
beneath the dark waves of senility,
or surf dashed on the rocks of no one cares,

I want to be looked after by a troop
of poorly paid
unfeeling speakers of a language no
one understands, not them, not me, and not