Last week my doctor said
I really needed to update
my Advance Directive
and Living Will. There is
nothing more joyous than
telling doctors when
to pull the plug and let you
slip away into the crematorium.
And now that I did, I realize
I must redo it for it is only
when I can no longer write
a poem that I will be sufficiently
far gone that pulling the plug
is not only showing compassion
for me but also the sad few
who might read my last poems.
Wait a minute. Do I really want
a physician who failed handwriting
in elementary school and
English Composition in college
deciding when I should die?
Nah, better to leave it to when I
am in a persistent vegetative state
(which is when my poems
are considered post hip-hop).