Tossing another token to John Prine who epitomized offering more with less. I liken this to a song rather than a poem but I’ll leave that definition to the reader.
Hey, dying ain’t all it’s cracked up to be
so don’t you go listening to that Fibber McGee
nobody’s thinking ‘I gotta hit the finish line strong’
’cause there ain’t any victors collecting the spoils
Living serves up messy helpings of joy and dire
on the level with the devil and singing with the choir
as my hourglass sands silently collect at the bottom
I’m wishing I’d taken the surprise behind Door #3
Did I master the rudiments of bountiful living?
or was my existence knowledge minus application?
how about throwing myself on the mercy of the court
Alex, why yes I’ll go ish kabibble on final jeopardy
At the end of our paths of becoming a human emeritus
we remain our own executioners serving out a life sentence
I’ve learned not much changes by putting the tea kettle on
IPA salvation at the brewery gives you much better odds
But what about if I decide I want to come back
unfinished business, get me my jacket of flak
you know if Google’s got an app for that?
We all wish for the one offering just rewards
So before I coldfoot it out of this Hotel Final
where it’s always checkout hour with no revival
I’ll offer one last howl before my final sunset
serving up these words as a last communion.