I would not like my wife to die
not by any means at all.
In fact it is my fond hope
that when I gently pop off
(at one hundred and ten)
she is weeping at the graveside
her brain still full
and her body walking.
But still, if she had been killed
this morning in a car
hit by a train as another poor soul was,
(train cameras malfunctioned before fatal crash)
it must be said that the house here
would be far tidier and remain so.
And now that I’ve taken my breath,
such a small benefit
seems a wonder
(while she’s still living)
to so often wish for.
I do not.