THE PRECIPICE
4 days ago
1 min read
By Carol Whitney Ward
Days tumble by
tripping toward the
precipice . . .
When I fall
I wish it
swift
like in my sleep
or stroke-quick dead
or cerebral aneurysm-gone
a slip in the tub and
knocked out cold⸺forever
No life support
no cancer with a year to live
no Alzheimer’s
no Parkinson’s
no
phasing
out
in-
cre-
men-
tal-
ly
but I am not the holder of the scythe . . .