What’s Next?


I’ve faked my own death
Sitting here, feet up
In front of the tv,
Not caring that someone small
Has x-ed out all the days
Left in this month,
To save me the trouble,
She says, looking critically
At my empty calendar.

What is one day
In a month of troubles,
In a life of lies?
I sit waiting patiently
For the catastrophe
That’s coming whether
I’m ready or not,
Feet up, remote aimed,
Waiting to switch channels.