I Know How This Story Ends

I know how this story ends.
It ends in a hospital bed
With a respirator, and with
A broken-hearted grandbaby
Begging for one last story-time.

I know how this story ends.
It ends, despite last wishes,
With a painted face and a starched
Suit, a casket, and a priest reading
Over last remains and final extras.

I know how this story ends.
It ends alone and in the dark,
With rotting, and with maggots
Held back for years by concrete,
Varnish, and preservatives.

I know how this story ends.
It ends with morphine and
With velvet and with hate
For every last marching second
That slowly takes us there.