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
was.
I want to die without the benefit
of being held,
of being cosseted, of being warm.
I want the creeping misery of weak
blood.
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,
mate.
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
you.
beyond my friends,
so old that no one mourns, my children cry
relief, and no one can remember what
was.
I want to die without the benefit
of being held,
of being cosseted, of being warm.
I want the creeping misery of weak
blood.
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,
mate.
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
you.