Posthumously

An hour ago they said I would not last the day.
If I were to observe posthumously, they might say:
‘What a tragedy – she was so lovely’ but in the flesh
there are no pleasantries.

My thoughts drift to that man I passed, this morning,
collapsed, convulsing violently, purple, vomiting, dying,
passersby rush, hoping to never know his reality.                                                                            I wonder what his mother wished for him.

Craving a cup of tea, I resent the eighty cents to my name
and am willing to practice trickery, to permanently
turn my coins into the price of lunch, what a luxury,
to always eat cake, like Marie Antoinette.

– L.J. Lenehan –

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