Sliding Scale Lifestyles Poem by Patti Masterman

Casual life mocks those who face annihilation;
The clocks and calendars and day planners galore-
Who wants to be surrounded with ticking time bombs,
When time’s the very thing they soon will have no more?

Who has time to plan formal dinner parties for ten
And worry if upholstery needs steamcleaned or not-
When you find out you come with an expiration notice-
Creative consumption no longer hits the spot.

Imagine listening to upwardly- mobile people,
Planning tedious lives to the very last whim-
When you scarcely have time to decide which possessions
To dispose of, before it all gets too dim.

All your things will still be around when you’re not-
They don’t need you to exist, and they won’t go with you;
All the things you thought you could never do without;
Without a body there’s not much that you can do.

For the soul that’s soon facing it’s own extinction,
Fad diets and exotic body gyms just aren’t it.
The latest, most modern decorating palettes
Are all wasted, when feces brown is where you sit.

It seems funny there should be different programs,
Different agendas for the youthful and the mature;
For the long-lived and the terminal- separate ways to do it:
A sliding scale of shallowness till you reach room temperature.