Since I’m now too old

to die young—forget about

a bereavement group

for survivors who remain.

I tried to live as if I would never die,

but fate did me in with a grey beard

that must have caught on fire.

I found it singed as a plucked chicken

leaving my face bare as a baby’s ass.

In my shaving mirror, I see my father

looking sad and bleary-eyed

with a grumpy wattle under his chin.

He must have worn out his time.

God smiles knowingly

as I wonder if I may be next

to meet that black spider

at the end of the end.