She worries about
everything;
real and imagined.
"What if this?  What if that?"
I watched my
Mom
worry herself right
into the
grave one disastrous
December night.
My girlfriend doesn't care.
She wants me to
worry right along
with her.
And when I don't,
she gets angry.
My Dad used to say,
"They can **** us,
but they can't eat us."
I share this with her.
Nothing!
Just
worry, worry, worry.
"

Death is stalking me.
It watches me play cards,
smoke cigarettes, and
drink beer.
It took my parents, two
brothers, and all my friends.
It got Chris last week.
20 bottles of whiskey in
seven days, I suppose that
would **** anyone.
They found him on the
railroad tracks.
Death is stalking me.
I won't cheat it.
I won't escape it;
but before it gets me,
I bet I finish
this poem.