Not going gentle
William de Kypia

Most distressing it is, my dear old friend,
to watch as you decline like this, lurching
miserably down to a miserable end with
barely the strength for one last piss.

All those lusty years you had.
Now joints are froze up, guts turned
sour, eyesight gone appallingly bad.
Did you really have to sell the car? 

Each day a cruel vivisection. Night's
torment cannot make you whole.
At dawn, pain-wracked resurrection.
Where is the life living stole?

We raged together, shared one cup,
flaunted most quaintly against the tide.
Could it be my fault you're used up—
pasty, puffing, bloated and blear-eyed?

Well, t
obacco to ashes, iron men rust. Since
you are determined to wend your own way,
please shuffle offstage. No hard feelings I trust.

Still...those bullying doctors with their lifestyle
changes arrive much sooner than I expected.
And when you go down my world rearranges.

Don't prattle morbidly about mortality.
Mere credence sustains what's called reality.
If we don't believe it, it just ain't true.

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

So come right on in, don't mind the mess.
How was the bus ride? You've lost weight,
wish I could too. Bet you're hungry, let's
order a pizza, do BBQ, whatever sounds
best to you. I'll grab us some brewskis and
we'll get real tight, I'm going waaaay off
my diet tonight.