Not going gentle,
__by proxy
William de Kypia

Distressing it is, my dear old friend,
to watch as you decline like this, lurch
miserably down to a dismal end, hardly
the strength for one last piss.

All those vigorous lusty years you had.
Now the joints are froze up, guts turned
sour, eyesight gone appallingly bad.
You sold the car? That is sad.

Each day a cruel vivisection. Night's
torment can’t make you whole. Dawn
brings a pain-wracked resurrection.
Where is the life living stole?

We two raged together, shared one cup,
tilted most quaintly against the tide.
Is it my fault you’re used up, pasty,
puffing, bloated, and blear-eyed?

Well, it’s tobacco to ashes and iron men rust.
If you’re of an age when you must turn the
page, just say farewell and shuffle offstage.
No hard feelings I trust.


Still…these bullying doctors with their lifestyle
changes arrive much sooner than I had expected.
And when you go down, my own world rearranges.

Cease prattling so morbidly about mortality.
Mere credence sustains what they call Reality.
If we refuse to believe something, it can’t be true.

Our friendship is a gift I will never forget.
While your flesh falters, my spirit prevails.
And in spite someone’s minor aches, petty
ails, I can carry us both for a fair spell yet.

So sit yourself down, please don't mind the mess.
How was the bus ride? You've lost some weight,
wish I could too. Must be hungry, let’s order a
pizza or do BBQ, whatever sounds best to you.
We’ll grab us some brewskis and get real tight,
I'm going to go waaaay off my diet tonight.


L'inconnue