I don’t talk about this much
but I figured I could hold on
long enough not to predecease my Mom;
I had that much in me.

It’s not like anything was killing me
but Dad had experienced heart issues
and my weight led my doctor to believe
that I would follow suit.
I had diabetes and I didn’t seem to have the will
to change behavior to fix things.

I wasn’t changing much of anything.
The jobs I could scrounge
were by the grace of friends
who knew I was capable of more
than what my resume showed
but I had trouble sending out resumes in the first place
so work grew sporadic,
so insurance was expensive
so life was promising to be
a continuing tunnel-vision
of a downward spiral.

I could help my mother enjoy her declining years,
be they ten or twenty,
I decided.
There’d be an inheritance after that,
from Dad’s pension and Mom’s investments.
I’d be able to live a little
and go into Shake Shack shock,
if I wanted.

The idea of getting healthy
just seemed beyond imagination.
Really, it’s the pills that changed my outlook.

I got drugged up
and got thinner enough
to imagine a life much after Mom.
I can live now
for a long long time.

It’s just so unfortunate
that civilization
has only about two hours more herself.