You're Leaving Before Your Expiry Date Poem by cahen thrips

Now I've reached that grave age
when I wonder if the battery
in my bedside clock will run
down before my heart stops.

My new credit card is embossed
with its own expiry date
and I ask myself: will I outlive
its cameo fiscal mandate?

If I trade my car for a newer
type - could it be my last one ever?
Does time enough remain to read
all the works of William Shakespeare?

In youth I imagined I'd perish with
the dying of the sun; and I believed
in something like immortality
for the both of us, but then

I knew I'd never rival Methuselah
nor even Keith Richards for longevity;
you see: I always thought, my darling,
you'd be certain to outlast me.

I'm about to be proven wrong.
My being's pendulum keeps its quiver
where your springs corrode and slow:
only the second hand now flickers.

Now it seems I'm sure to outlive you
(measuring time not in seasons but breaths)
and I expect to buy new batteries for my clock
but can my heart survive your death?

November 2022