Jack in His Boxers

A Poem by Robert Ronnow

Have you ever considered
how your shoes will look
without your feet?

I should call Dr. Killeen this afternoon,
find out if I have cancer
but I’m enjoying the extra weekend of not knowing.

Strong oscillations
gather rhythm
and expel me or accept me.

It’s annoying
being the center of attention,
the dead man walking.

Things often work out better than you expect
and this probably will too.
In the transition to non-existence,

Ken said, you get what you believe.
Now that is a truly scary thought,
even scarier than Life is but a dream.

Pain serves the purpose of preparing
one to die.
Other methods have been tried but this works best.

You tie up your affairs
or maintain the discipline you possessed
when feeling well. Eschew

certainty about the afterlife.
All will be given
that must be what faith means.

Don’t forget to breathe.
Rain happens. We supply the reasons.
Leave no footprint in eternity. No smell.