Bits of Me

When people ask: ‘How are you?’

I say, ‘Bits of me are fine.’

And they are. Lots of me I’d take

anywhere. Be proud to show off.

But it’s the bits that can’t be seen

that worry. The boys in the backroom

who never get introduced.

The ones with the Latin names

who grumble about the hours I keep

and bang on the ceiling

when I’m enjoying myself. The overseers.

The smug biders of time.

Over the years our lifestyles

have become incompatible.

We were never really suited

and now I think they want out.

One day, on cue, they’ll down tools.

Then it’s curtains for me. (Washable

plastic on three sides.) Post-op.

Pre-med. The bed nearest the door.

Enter cheerful staff nurse (Irish

preferably), ‘And how are you today?’

(I see red.) Famous last words:

‘Bits of me are fine.’ On cue, dead.