The End

The end is in sight, so the diagnosis says.

Have big regrets, had lots of fun,

did some things right, so many wrong.

Was good and bad, rose and fell.

Like a million other cliches at the end of the day.

Know what really let me down?

Yogurt.

Was supposed to save my stomach and GI tract.

And broccoli, blueberries, beans, whole wheat, etal.

Ate em all.

To what end? Certainly didn’t push me to 80, you lousy antioxidants.

Life is complicated, food complex.

Why do we yell at the ones we love?

Why, eventually, do we ask so many whys

when we had the time, energy before but not the courage?

I hate so many question marks and dumb platitudes.

But here we are.

At the end.

No wisdom, just muck.

Oh, oh, wait, just got a call from the PA.

The pain?

Pulled muscle in the abdomen, not cancer after all.

Just rest and take some aspirin.

Oh, man, thanks.

So those of you here that are reading, please disregard all the previous stuff.

Maybe I’ll reassess my life again, soon, in a different, same old, light.

Will let you know.

Full

Filling out, filling in, Philadelphia cream cheese.

Philadelphia scrapple, you’re the apple of my fevered eye.

Infatuating dust squeezes so I sneeze,

an allergic contraction of the heart, an infection expanding the lungs,

no compromised immunity, a mutiny of spinning cells,

unflappable against any scourge.

Wheezing synapses filling in and filling out

with that vintage Philly soul sound.

Follow the science, feel the reverb.

Keep the national spleen from our path.

Be sane and let jazzy love reign supreme

so all our aches and pains are serene.