In the hospital cafeteria, all unbidden,
Miss Aqua Net Extra Hold at the next table tells me,
"You're using way too much salt."
I turn to a pillar, shaker in hand.
"Why, thank you Pinocchio."
A practiced flourish of the wrist brings a white rain.
I look back.
She has gone back to attacking her salad.
Longevity runs in my family, but,
I would rather go down,
Back into the earth;
Give me all the seasons now,
Cos, dearie, for what it's worth--
I have no wish to linger on,
To go quietly,
To fail slowly,
To grow old.
for One Shoot Sunday