About That End

Comes a time you may realize,
As flesh, no one on Earth is twice

As old as you are on this day,
And thus even the longest odds

Don’t allow for most of your life—
As pulsing, breathing animal,

At least—to be ahead of you.
You could be done tomorrow, but

You’re certainly more than half-way
Through. You’ve passed your true middle age,

Though you don’t know how long ago.
The fact is probability;

The exact date remains unknown.
So there you are, the cloud of you,

Hovering around the creature
Whose life has housed your awareness,

Certain both will disintegrate
In fewer years than it took them

To get here, and it’s comforting
To know something about the end.