Doom’s day or not, I wake before the alarm clock rings and
wonder what will become of me, and if the news I get will be as tragic as I
suspect, having already outlived all those who had raised me.
I expect to live forever, and live my life as if this is
true, expecting small things to malfunction, my lungs, my eyes, my prostate,
and like those would be mechanic back at the cold water flat in Passaic, I
expect to tinker and make repairs, to keep this old car on the road, and resent
any implication differently, and so I wake this morning wondering if my plans
will go awry, and if the nearer I get the more likely I’ll need a tow truck for
that long, terrible ride to the junk yard.
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