Death be not proud,
Do I dare eat a peach?
If only I could write like Whitman.
Or that other poet I am trying to remember.
You know the one, Lakes and transcendentalism:
I have been trying to recall his name for days.
Not John Donne. He’s a favorite.
Not the albatross. Maybe I dare disturb the universe.
Where was I going with this? I can’t remember.
Left hand: comes in handy when your ride sight does not work like it used to.
I had a stroke. Now some brain cells are dead.
I feel like I should have a memorial service. Or something.