On dying alone

sick, flat on my back
staring at the ceiling
Reality wanted a say
wondering, raw as always
if this was how I would die
no cat, dog, human or fish beside me

why should that be a problem? I asked
not to me dear, she said
positively gleeful at the prospect
of ruffling sacrosanct feathers
but I’ve noticed lately
(Reality does this – notice I mean
when she hasn’t even been invited to the conversation)
how absorbed humans are with pretending that death will not come

as usual, Reality was rapier sharp
and the pathway to it, she went on
seems like the yellow brick road
lots of nonsensical bumbling
building to the crescendo
yes, yes, the final act?
is a con

I laughed; glad Reality had pushed her way in
reminding me that solitariness has gifts
but yes, I may die alone
undiscovered for days or weeks
depending on when the time comes
but let not your heart be troubled
Reality will hold your hand if you let her