Poem #14: Shh

When I sit next to

Death again

For another fireside chat

Will I wish I’d spent

More time

Cleaning my house

Or ticking off to-dos?

When he beckons

Come hither

With his skeletal

Finger

And his red, angry stare,

Will I wish I’d

Spent more time

Pining for

What was never mine

And obsessing over ifs?

When he pats

My thigh in

Support of my end

Will I regret saying

What I did

Or how I feel I

Was perceived?

When death whispers

In my ear once more

To show me

How to live,

I’ll shush his

Raspy calls to join him

Because I’ve

Already learned

These lessons.