Not Death but Decrepitude
terrifies me.
The sudden stroke, the massive heart attack,
that leaves me incapable of acquiring
and raising a pistol to my head.
A bedridden ward of the state,
warehoused in a nursing home,
unable to drive to the liquor store
for whiskey and cigarettes,
is the end game that permeates
recurrent nightmares now-
all dreams of flight banished by
a condition of utter dependency.
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Author's Note
Inescapable age
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Ah, yes...NO!!
Thank you, Matt.
It wouldn't be much fun, Gary...
thank you, Ericka.
You are not alone in recoiling from this 21st century nightmare. *
Thank you, Daniel.
No comfort.
Thank you, Dianne.
Down the street from where I live is a nursing home/rehab center(where no one seems to get rehabbed)and which most of a certain age fear more than death itself.
You speak for many.
Wow, fine poem, Gary. Much moved by the skill in which you articulate these very real fears! Like the tightness of the piece & the attention grabber of eliding the title into the arresting "terrifies me" 1st. line.
Thank you, David.
Thank you, Ed.
Yes. Terrified here too. Wonderful poem. *
Thank you, Beate.
Well done.
*****
Thank you, James.
Mercies conferred by caring institutions are not those conferred by caring families: wonder where all our caring families got to.
Good work.
Thank you, Edward.
It's one of those things never spoken about. Very poignant Gary.
Thank you, Amantine.