He told me he’d already accepted it,
said “I know I’m gonna die alone”
in such lowly, mournful tones that I
had to stifle my bad form giggles.
I know it’s not nice to laugh
but it’s just silly as hell to think
that of all the foul, regrettable ends
a man’d be fearful of that.
But I guess we only grieve the things
we’ve conceived to go without;
all the freedoms, unused, we forgot,
the fears we never faced.
He said that I would be his last
and that will be untrue,
but recounting his narrow escape, I hope
she’ll laugh, too.