Someday

Someday

I'll be an old senile dementia patient

In a low budget nursing home

Because I spent all my money on living

and now have non left to die.

And one of my grandkids or my children

Or whoever owns the place my shit ends up

Will come by with a book of my poems.

And as my tired eyes read them

My decaying mind will wonder

If it ever worked right at all

Or if I was always this abstract and wild.