Breathing

I’m generally prudent and well-planned,
but I was sometimes foolish in the past.
And though I aged and came to understand
myself enough to mend – one vice did last
too long by any measure I have used.
I smoked, although I knew it would speed death.
I cared for mind and muscle but abused
my bronchia, till I grew short of breath.

My body signaled well, but I ignored
the message soon as I felt some relief.
I knew if I got cancer I’d be floored
with shame – embarrassment might outrun grief.
I’ve given up for good – I’m ready, late,
to read the book and try to bend my fate.

This entry was posted in Aging, Health, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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