I’LL EAT WHEN I’M DEAD

Who has time to eat?
Ravenous for feeling alive,
I leap out of bed
at the first ray of light
to catch the rising sun—
see as many falling stars,

Northern Lights
and rainbow omens
that I can see,
and delight
in toddler’s laughter—
let alone all the books

I haven’t yet read.
And don’t forget
the touches and caresses—
the magnificence
of creative lovemaking—
there’s still positions
in the Kama Sutra

I wanted to try,
and countries to visit,
seas to sail,
bubbly prosecco sips,
honeysuckle sniffs,
and music—
don’t get me started—
I’ll be blowing my trumpet
instead of ringing the bell
when I reach the elegant door
to the world beyond.