I
I live alone.
In
a cramped apartment.
On
a forgotten floor.
In
a run-down building.
In
a shanty town.
In
a shanty town.
Where I can't look up.
And I won't look down.
And where I live
blindfolded.
Blindfolded,
so I can keep what I have,
which
isn't much,
I am afraid,
not much at
all.
A few old books.
A black and white TV,
a broken up
bed
with a
rotten mattress.
And an old lighter
which I found
long ago,
and that doesn't work,
sorry to say.
But it gives me
a sense...
of class.
Just a touch
of
class,
a mere hint
of
class.
Yes,
class,
class.
And I don't smoke.
II
I walk in small steps.
I drink in little sips.
I don't rush things.
I don't tempt fate.
I can afford to be patient.
I can afford the wait.
Yes. I can afford the wait.
So I don't take risks.
I don't play the odds.
I don't push the limits.
And I make uneventful
my days,
and work in predictable ways.
Very predictable ways.
Easily predictable ways.
I die a little bit at a time.
Just a little bit at a time.
Only a tiny bit at a time.
I can afford the wait.
Yes. I can afford the wait.
Death is never late.
Never late.
III
The relief worker said
by
tomorrow
I will be dead.
They got to me
too late,
it
seems.
But then,
that has
always been
my fate.
Life just happens
to me.
And keeps on
happening
to me.
And now...
death.