#2,482 Every third thought

Every third thought disturbs
my day – a given at – almost –
sixty years of age – Prospero
reminded me to mind death
& a settled place – a grave to
envision – a bed for ever-rest
& quieter times [alongside a
silent neighbour] – Carve my
name one last time in stone
[& no more hearts] – a three-
score years & ten to count to
end – my hundred thousand
hours to fill alone [sleep less
to maximise all that’s left] – I
have a funeral parlour close
to hand – nodding terms are
held to with its kindly staff –
they shine their hearse each
day into a constant gloss [as
if God cares] – & I will lie one
last time for everyone left – I
will fit in their wicker option