Aging and weakening until I expire
I now can barely see the TV screen.
Things fall apart; my joints they’re too damn old,
Mere anarchy is loosed upon my world!
My blood pressure’s much too high, and everywhere
The gracefulness of aging is bologna.
My organs lack all conviction, while my mind
Begins its slide into dementia.
Likely some expiration is at hand;
Likely the Final Going is at hand.
The Final Going! Hardly are those words out
When an MRI image of my abdomen
Troubles my sleep: somewhere on my prostate
A shape about a centimeter long
(Which may or may not be malignant)
Could be metastasizing in my innards.
The darkness drops again and now I know
That after an hour of stony sleep
I’ll wake from my biopsy to find out
What’s threatening my body on this morn.
