When a young man, I never would have wanted
to know when I was going to die.
The fear of dying and knowing when was just too
much for me.
Now as an older man, knowing my dying date
would not be a problem to me.
Perhaps it’s because of my age, or maybe I had
an enlightening moment that erased my dread
of death and knowing when I was going to die.
But I think having lived a long enough life, I’m
okay with dying now and I’d be okay with
knowing when.
And I’d probably binge on desserts and all the
forbidden food claimed to be bad for you in the
days and weeks before I died.
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Free verse poetry, mostly fiction, some nonfiction