Deleting my Sent Mail today I came across this from Max, already posted, in
August. Spookily prescient. Still missing him and his contributions here
enormously.
Bill
Cause of Death
What will kill me,
and how soon, can
only be guessed at.
‘Cause of death’ -
there are likely ones
and less likely ones -
what I may die of,
with or without pain,
preferably in bed -
or on it, like my mother,
who went upstairs
to put her coat on,
while my sister waited
downstairs for her.
What could be keeping her?
Her heart condition,
known and understood,
took her quietly.
Helped by those stairs.
Since then my own heart’s
been checked and rechecked.
Climbing stairs, I still think of her.
Something else is more likely -
like road traffic, while I look
the wrong way, crossing
the street, having changed
countries as I’ve been doing
lately. Or on a plane,
panicky during turbulence,
and help not forthcoming.
They say if you die mid-flight,
they put you in a cupboard
kept secretly for the purpose -
the corpse cupboard.
An ambulance meets
the plane - you get off first,
for once - for good - at long last.
What was in my shoulder-bag?
No life-saving medication.
Just a half-read book; some
tissues; keys to the home
I won’t return to,
the mailbox I won’t empty.
Don’t feel sorry for me,
I can do all that for myself -
while I’m here, at any rate.
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