Death Bed

Lest anyone become concerned, this isn't some vague announcement of my impending fatality, but rather an amateurly-poetic, generalized bucket list of how I want to live my life, no matter how much of it I have left. Because sometimes I wonder about the possibility that I might die young, and I don't want to miss out on any of this stuff if I do. Because the love and hope I have for all these things are kind of what makes my world go 'round.


If I must have a death bed
Let it be a grassy knoll under the stars
With cool, dewy blades tickling my skin
And that of my Love beside me, the deepest of our affections
Wrapped up tidily in the simple, intimate gesture of our
                                     Hand-holding.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a floor—hardwood, stone, carpet, or kitchen—
With disco, strobe, black, or incandescent
(Just not fluorescent) lights
Illuminating my soul-expressive
                                     Dancing.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be the cinema
My loud-mouthed friends and I making messes
Of buttery kernels and bubbly beverages
Thanks to our uncontrollable boisterous, body-shaking
                                     Laughing.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a freshly-muddy baseball diamond
Where I dirty my clothes beyond salvation
As gunk puddles splash, weaving glorious filth into every fiber
And I revert to childhood, inhaling joy and life as I'm
                                     Playing.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a giant hunk of metal
A wing on each side, moved for my pleasure—
Or perhaps by my command—
So I might as well be a superhero
                                     Flying.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a rooftop garden
Diverse with fruit trees, Venus fly-traps, and lilies
Each seed planted and nurtured
By my hands, new life born and
                                     Ever-growing.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a two-wheeled, leg-powered steel frame
Pedaling eternally toward who-even-cares-what
Curves in the road meant just for me
Metaphors for life's patterns discovered and contemplated in the
                                     Cycling.

If I must have a death bed
Let it be a search for the good, the virtuous, the beautiful
Breaking way to despair only momentarily
For my heart hasn't the time for such a thing
When it gets caught up in all this
                                     Living.