How It Will End

You will become old Older than the wild Older than dull cutlery Someone will feed you with a spoon You will eat the spoon and ask for another Tubes and wires will hold you together Nurses will come in the night Roll you from room to room for tests On beds with rotating wheels It is for the best so rest They will come with white sheets With cutting machines and drills With smiles behind dark masks Stitches can only hold on so long Is there oil or a cure for the cold in there? Words mumble through saliva Slip from the tongue in a dribble Anesthesia soothes the soul No one listens to old people Is there gold in there? Wrinkles build highways on faces Take on a life of their own on the elderly Stretch for miles over peaks and valleys To the valley of death for what cause Doctors operate for a profit To find what's inside worth saving How it will end is not for us to say There must be something left in the pockets