Every Day As if It Was Your Past

There’s no need to make your dying
Into another competition,

No necessity to worry
About how you spend this time—

Whether you seize the day,
Whether you make each moment count,

Whether you’re a font
Of forgiveness, wisdom, and meaning—

Heavens, people. If you know
You’re going soon, if you’re lucky

Enough to be given a preview
Of which exit door gets to be yours,

Why spoil that grace with determination
To waste none of it? For the irony?

Leave all the tomes on dying well
For the living still trying too hard

To make their lives into a fine story
Others can admire, others can

Seek to emulate, others can
Believe in, only so that they themselves

Can feel duly unashamed of the end
Of themselves. For yourself,

You don’t need to die just right
To avoid dying wrong.

You want to indulge in dull
Extensions of your same old quotidian?

You want to watch bad television
And scratch yourself in bed?

You feel like daydreaming in sunlight?
You go ahead. You’re alright.