I Can’t Die Yet

I can’t die yet.

I haven’t written my death scene

I have no idea what it would or could be

That is not the point

I can’t die yet

My death scene is unwritten

Un-plotted, un-rehearsed

[Un-rehearsed?] I’ll explain

Eventually. The script will read

“He dies”. Short, succinct, unhelpful

The “he” is “I”, until my last breath

The “how” or “how long” is not specified

An on/off switch approach does not appeal

If it’s my death, my life, I’m in on the planning

The scene, won’t be many. Close close family

I can count them on the fingers of one hand

The music? The all-important music, something

Dramatic, emotional, with a gentle kick in the guts

There is so much to choose from, it will take years

One can’t say I’m not optimistic

My poems, yes my poems. You could design

The service around them. There will be my mea culpa

My apology for past sins, maybe not; my best regards to everyone

It’s been a blast, a 24/7 party intoxicated all the way

Has it? I can recall long moments of solitude, left to my

Thoughts, struggling to understand them. That was all part of the fun

I was one of many who did the same; did we learn the same lesson

Life’s a struggle, we don’t get dealt our hand at birth, that comes later

We pick up our life track. I inherited English charm, Biggles, Boys Own Annual

And all. Land of Hope and Glory, Blake’s Jerusalem and so on. Forgive me

For being gauche, it is part of my charm. British nobility was the name of the game

Kiwis didn’t play it. They preferred Rugby. So, I conformed. Go, All Blacks!!!

I can’t die yet. I’ve got coffee to drink. By the pot, by the cup from Muffin Break

I have poems in development, by theme, by title or whim; whimsical poetry [pauses]

Catchy title for a collection of poems. I might even still be alive when they are released

There you have the context. Land of Hope and Glory, Blake’s Jerusalem and Whimsical Poems

And “Go, All Blacks!!!!! Fade to black. The crowd, the crowd; how they cheer, give applause.