The Last Page Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He flipped through them, just page by page
the archives of his life, god-given and precise.
Skin peeling off arthritic fingers at this stage
ingested wisdom and fatigue from battles, in his eyes.
He still remembered that it started with page three
he'd skipped the boring, customary introduction;
that's where the midwife earned her reassurance fee
she had not counted on the need for urgent suction.

He was so tired now, the letters swam like fishes,
and flashed a smile at last on reaching the last page,
there was no index or appendix and no list of wishes
just one small footnote stating 'you have reached the age'.
He thought how strange that he experienced relief,
here at the bus stop to a great uncertainty.
Oh yes, of course this journey had been very brief,
but it was madness and great logic to be free.