By Sandra Rokoff-Lizut

The surgeon softly murmurs
that I’ll doubtless live a day or so
and bids my two grown daughters
to leave and get some rest.

I’m busy dying faster.

Willed my remains to science; can’t
stand those phony funeral flowers.
Vodka and V8 in the fridge.
The old dames next door can
go over and drink a final toast.

I’m willing my body to close down.

Rent on the apartment
is due in two days time. If
my girls get a move on, they can
clean the whole place out by then.

And — when my daughters leave to take a nap,
I’ll just wrap up my soul and slip out.

Sandra Rokoff-Lizut is a retired educator, and a children’s book author, printmaker and poet. Her work has appeared in various publications including Illya’s Honey, The Bicycle Review, Wilderness House Review and others.