When the time comes for you
to board death’s shifty raft
of mirror shards and plastic coffee cups,
I hope you’re ready.
I hope you’ve made peace
with everyone you’ve ever done wrong
and you feel no more use for pencils
and your robe is warm and dry
and nothing obstructs
your view of the void.
When the moment arrives
I hope you pass through the membrane
that separates this world
from the next whatever
snowstorm wishbone yadda yadda
with very little pain. And a modicum of pride.
That’s all I have to say for now.
That’s all I ever have to say.
Copyright © 2016 by Ben Mirov. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 20, 2016, by the Academy of American Poets.