Paul searched out his last breath.
It waited for him at a bar
twenty-two years and seven days
into the future.
His last breath knew it would take place
at a local hospital and not a bar
but the waiting period bored it
so it drank.
Paul thought to himself
that his last breath was well on its way
to becoming a lush, a drunk
and might well miss it cue and not be ready.
He tried to convince his last breath
to join AA and dry up
with the help of a sponsor
and new friends to buoy its spirits.
Paul’s last breath told him not to worry.
That it would sober up
when the bell sounded for Paul’s
last lap.
His last breath warned him
that it did not do dramatic last words
like Rosebud or Mother
but might utter a line
from a Shakespearean comedy
or something creepy
like an obscure IRS rule
about diminishing returns.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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