Spirit World Beckons

He lay on the stark bed,
old arms sunken skinny and no doubt
cold like gray, shivering in the constant
frigid air flow that hospitals spout, as
annoying as blown air-horns to the sick
and sensitive of hearing.

He had been avoiding mirrors
for years, but he could finally say
the mounting wrinkles took over. Time
and the inlaid alcohol had won.
His heart was finally weary and softer,
he could feel it.

He turned over and looked at his
family that he had betrayed,
mistrusted, misfed, abused, and
thought not deeply enough about
these things. Only couldn’t wait to taste
the kind of vodka they had in Heaven.

-- Celestial K.