Sun sick, drinking
Gatorade, and
washing down
a sleeping aid;
a Dramamine for
dizzy dreams, and
vitamins with
herbal tea.

God forgot you
long ago,
and He will miss
your funeral;
He’s working
nine to five these days
at just above
the minimum wage.

The panic starts.
Your life will end—
you never saw
the pyramids,
or stood below
a waterfall,
(the movies made that
look so cool).

You had a kid, though,
raised her right;
she made you laugh
on chemo-nights—
and she’s a mirror
of her dad,
(but she’s always
had your laugh).

There is nothing
to be learned,
the end must come
for all of us;
but you feel strong
despite your fear—

and you could live
another year.