By Ronald Pelias
Before they put me in a grave or an oven
to be taken up by the power of elements
chewing or burning away my decaying flesh,
I’m putting words down that won’t last
through the drying of one or two shed tears,
the expiration dates on the daily medicines,
the bags of worn clothing taken to Goodwill.
Not that I think it should be any other way.
What’s used up, of no use, should be tossed,
discarded like food scraps unfit for compost.
Dispose what’s left behind. I’ve had my say,
gobbling time from tolerant listeners. Still,
I babble on to see if I might secure a few
sustaining phrases to stuff in my pockets.
Copyright Pelias 2022