Dying Mother

Dying Mother

Perched on her stool, but getting there

Angry at paper that just does not care

Onion unlayered in the last of her skin

Paper be angry, paper be thin

Blotched and embattled, unwashed and pajamaed,

The bladder goes dry on the floor not telling her why,

Two teeth left in a mushy jaw-

I am still alive but who knows what for

Walking swollen ,chapped and scaled , stuck like Mother goose

Hearing goes harder than misunderstood

Drinks from the vine, the everyday bottle-ghost from the past

Wherever I am going I am getting there fast

Will they buy my a casket, or burn me with gas

There's comma 'tween now and forever and a hyphen just before hell

the nothing hereafter gets as good as it gets