Remaining Days
The remaining days
have no distinction.
My children
have abandoned me
to the care of Shady Acres
Nursing Home.
My friends, all dead now;
and I sit amidst
a crowd of breathing zombies
staring blindly out the window
or into the fuzzy TV screen.
The nurses, smiling sadistic
bitches who prod my skin
and orifices with needles,
enemas and other assorted
tools of torture.
I lie awake at night,
listening to the droning
snores of my roommate.
The room smells like piss
mixed with Pine Sol and tears.
I hope soon to shake
the welcome hand of death.
For these remaining days
have no distinction.
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